THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

AN  UNPUBLISHED  NOVEL 

BY  THE  LATE 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY 


REVISED  AND  COMPLETED  BY  HIS  DAUGHTER 

LUCAS     MALET 

(MRS.  MARY  ST.  LEGER  HARRISON) 


NEW    YORK 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1916 


Copyright,  1916,  by 
SMITH,  ELDER,  &  CO. 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

The  history  of  this  book  is  sufficiently  peculiar  to 
merit  a  few  words  of  introduction. 

The  literary  notebooks  and  manuscripts — pub- 
lished and  unpublished — of  my  father,  Charles 
Kingsley,  were  left  to  me  by  my  mother.  Nominally 
they  came  into  my  possession  at  the  date  of  her 
death,  in  1892.  But  circumstances,  into  which  it  is 
unnecessary  for  me  to  enter  here,  prevented  my 
making  a  thorough  examination  of  them  until  last 
winter. 

I  knew  my  father  had  planned,  and  begun  writing, 
two  novels — one  called  "  The  Pilgrimage  of  Grace,'* 
dealing  with  the  suppression  of  the  monasteries  un- 
der Henry  the  Eighth;  the  other  called  "  Darling, 
the  History  of  a  Wise  Woman,"  the  scene  of  which 
was  laid  in  the  New  Forest  and  the  plot  of  which 
concerned  the  doings  of  certain  French  refugees  in 
the  years  immediately  following  The  Terror.  Por- 
tions of  both  these  I  found  amongst  a  mass  of  lec- 
tures, essays,  poems,  sketches  of  character,  etc. 

But  I  also  found  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  fools- 
cap pages  of  another  novel,  entitled  "  The  Tutor's 
Story,"  which  was  entirely  new  to  me.  I  never  re- 
member hearing  my  father  speak  of  it,  nor  do  I  find 
any  allusion  to  it  in  "  The  Letters  of  Charles  Kings- 
ley  and  Memories  of  his  Life."    The  fact  that  the 

355503 


vi  PREFATORY  NOTE 

Yorkshire  scenery,  along  with  various  names  of  per- 
sons and  places,  is  common  to  "  The  Tutor's  Story  " 
and  the  opening  chapters  of  *'  The  Water  Babies  '* 
leads  me  to  suppose  it  was  written  before  and,  prob- 
ably, put  aside  in  favour  of  the  latter  book,  which 
appeared  in  1863.  More  than  this  I  neither  know 
nor  can,  at  this  distance  of  time,  conjecture.  The 
discovery  came  as  an  absolute  and  delightful  surprise 
to  me,  and  to  my  sister  when  I  showed  her  the  manu- 
script. 

The  whole  is  In  my  father's  hand,  evidently  writ- 
ten with  a  flowing  pen,  at  odd  moments  as  the  fancy 
took  him.  Here  and  there  a  word  or  phrase  is 
scratched  out  and  another  substituted;  but  the  bulk 
of  the  copy  is  in  the  rough,  neither  revised  nor  pol- 
ished. The  first  fifty  or  sixty  pages  are  fairly  con- 
secutive. Then  follow  chapters  and  skeletons  of 
chapters  far  on  in  the  story,  stray  pages — notes — 
as  *'  here  he  comes  home  drunk  "  and  suchlike  sug- 
gestions of  intimate  drama.  But,  notwithstanding 
discrepancies  and  obvious  omissions,  the  characters 
are  there,  distinct  and  even  vivid,  living,  talking,  and 
not  unfrequently  behaving  very  badly.  The  scenery, 
in  part  at  least,  is  there.  The  plot  Is  there,  too, 
firmly  based  though  unresolved;  events  and  situa- 
tions being  recorded  the  how  and  wherefore  of  which 
are  neither  led  up  to  nor  accounted  for. 

The  manuscript,  In  short,  offers  a  puzzle  of  which 
a  good  many  pieces  either  are  lost  or  have  never 
existed — since  it  was  my  father's  habit  to  put  down 
a  scene,  description,  or  dialogue  just  as  it  occurred  to 


PREFATORY  NOTE  vii 

him,  leaving  all  linking  up  and  filling  in  to  a  final  re- 
writing of  his  book. 

How  far  I  have  succeeded  in  supplying  these  miss- 
ing pieces  it  is  for  others  to  judge.  I  have  developed 
the  characters,  disentangled  the  plot,  and  completed 
the  story  to  the  best  of  my  understanding  and  ability, 
and  have  doubled  the  length  of  the  original  manu- 
script in  the  process.  I  have  tried  to  preserve  peculi- 
arities of  style,  and  maintain  a  moral  and  emotional 
unity  throughout — to  maintain,  further,  a  certain 
freshness  and  simplicity  of  outlook  which  has  the 
rather  pathetic  charm  of  a  ''  day  that  is  dead."  I, 
personally,  hold  no  brief  for  that  day  either  in  its 
literary,  social,  or  political  methods.  Yet  I  find  the 
charm  a  very  real  one;  and  I  cannot  but  hope  the 
readers  of  "  The  Tutor's  Story  " — thus  sent  forth  in 
book  form  after  lying  hid  for  the  better  part  of  half 
a  century — may  endorse  my  opinion  and  find  that 
charm  a  real  one  also. 

Lucas  Malet. 

October  12,1915. 


THE    TUTOR'S    STORY 

CHAPTER  I 

I  HAVE  often  thought  of  writing  the  story  of  my  life, 
at  least  of  its  most  interesting  and  critical  portion. 
It  is  not  enough,  it  seems  to  me,  to  dream  over  this 
incident  or  that,  just  as  association  may  call  them  up. 
I  ought  to  lay  the  whole  methodically  before  me  as  a 
mirror  of  my  past  self;  as  a  chart  of  the  road  along 
which  Heaven  has  led  me. — Come,  I  will  begin  it 
now.  It  will  be  a  useful  and  not  ungrateful  occupa- 
tion for  these  long  hot  summer  mornings,  while  all 
the  rest  of  the  parish  is  busy  in  the  fields. 

Not  ungrateful,  truly.  For,  though  I  can  look 
back  upon  mistakes,  I  have  no  disgrace,  not  even  any 
serious  failure,  with  which  to  reproach  myself;  and 
if  I  have  had  a  hard  battle  to  fight,  I  have  conquered, 
I  trust,  not  without  honour.  If  much  has  been  de- 
nied me,  much  has  been  given;  and  I  can  say  with 
David  ''  my  lot  is  fallen  in  pleasant  places,"  though  I 
cannot  say,  perhaps,  that  ''  my  cup  runs  over."  But 
why  should  my  cup  run  over?  Why  should  I,  like 
too  many,  have  more  pleasure  than  I  can  thoroughly 
and  conscientiously  enjoy  and,  intoxicated  with 
variety  and  excitement,  let  my  own  happiness  run  to 
waste?    Better  is  it  to  have  my  cup,  as  now,  half 


2^,    ^      .      THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

full,  and  to  sip  it  delicately,  deliberately,  luxuriously, 
making  the  most  of  every  drop. 

Half  full  did  I  say?  Surely  that  was  a  thankless 
speech.  How  much  I  have  already.  How  much  I 
have  had  for  many  peaceful  years.  Why  should  I 
pine,  like  the  Arabian  princess  in  the  midst  of  her 
fairy  palace,  for  the  impossible  roc's  egg  which  is  to 
make  it  perfect?  Shall  I  not  be  content  with  my 
fairy  palace;  and  with  the  fairies,  too,  which  haunt 
It?  With  those  noble  children  for  whom  I  live, 
growing  before  me  day  by  day  in  beauty  and  in 
virtue;  with  the  friendship  of  heroical  spirits,  the 
converse  of  worthy  scholars,  the  love  of  villagers, 
whom  I  have  trained  from  childhood  to  fear  their 
God  and  honour  their  Queen?  Shall  I  not  be  con- 
tent with  this  pleasant  parsonage  study,  and  its 
shelves  full  of  books,  grand  old  classics,  and  grander 
old  divines?  With  the  lawn  sloping  to  the  broad 
river,  my  trim  flower-beds  and  standard  roses, 
"  laburnum  dropping  gold,"  the  deep  avenues  of  lime 
beyond,  and  royal  Hover  towering  over  all  amid  the 
black  peaks  of  those  mighty  pines? — Yes,  noble 
house,  and  noble  souls  that  dwell  therein — ^not  in 
vain  for  myself,  and  not  in  vain,  thank  God,  for  you, 
did  I  come  hither  as  a  raw  college  lad  full  forty  years 
ago.  Under  your  gracious  shadow  I  will  dwell  con- 
tent till  I  slip  away,  once  for  all,  into  the  little  church- 
yard close  at  hand  and  lay  down  there  the  not  un- 
pleasant burden  of  mortality. 

Forty  years  ago.  That,  I  suppose.  Is  the  point  at 
which  I  should  begin;  at  the  spring  day  In  the  year 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  3 

1829,  on  which  I  got  upon  the  mail  to  start,  as  I 
fancied,  friendless  out  into  the  wide  world.  With 
what  a  homeless  heart  I  went  forth !  Mother,  broth- 
ers, sister,  all  gone.  And  now  my  father  gone,  too, 
gone  after  them  and  I  left  alone  in  the  world,  with  a 
lame  foot  and  an  asthmatic  cough  to  warn  me  that 
my  life  might  be  as  short  and  as  painful  as  that  of 
my  brothers  had  been.  My  darling  ambition,  too — 
the  thing  for  which  I  had  lived  ever  since  I  was 
seven  years  old — the  hope  of  a  high  degree  and  a 
college  fellowship,  quashed  as  it  seemed,  utterly  and 
for  ever.  Yes — that  was  a  dark  day  for  me.  And 
yet  how  kind  people  were  to  me,  and  how  good — 
kind  and  good,  as  I  have  found  mankind,  even  in  the 
midst  of  their  many  faults,  throughout  my  life. 

How  the  old  Master  smiled  with  kindly  triumph, 
when  he  told  me  he  had  secured  me  the  post  of  tutor 
to  young  Lord  Hartover.  Told  me  he  knew  that  I 
should  always  keep  up  the  credit  of  the  college,  there 
as  elsewhere ;  all  that  I  had  to  do  now,  was  to  play 
my  cards  well,  save  money,  come  back  and  take  a 
fine  degree  and  settle  into  a  fat  college  fellow.  How 
he  insisted  on  lending  me  twenty  pounds;  which  I 
needed,  for  my  father's  death  had  left  me  penniless. 
How  kind  the  men,  too,  were  !  How  the  fellow-com- 
moners, who  had  not  deigned  to  speak  to  me  while  I 
was  the  ambitious  sizar  and  expected  wrangler, 
shook  hands  with  me ;  and  said — I  cannot  tell  why — 
that  they  were  sorry  to  lose  me.  How  my  friends 
insisted  on  giving  me  a  farewell  breakfast,  ere  I 
mounted  the  mail;  and  would  surely  have  made  me 


4  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

drink  champagne  In  the  morning,  had  I  not  been, 
from  health  rather  than  from  Inclination,  a  Nazarite 
from  my  birth.  Kind  souls !  their  good-nature  In- 
creased my  loneliness.  In  leaving  Cambridge,  I  had 
left  all  I  knew,  all  I  cared  for  on  earth;  and,  as  the 
coach  rolled  away  along  the  Huntingdon  road,  I 
looked  back  at  the  spires  of  King's  College  and  the 
dark  walls  of  elm  and  chestnut  as  an  emigrant  looks 
back  on  the  white  cliffs  of  England,  perhaps  for  the 
last  time. 

I  knew  but  little  of  the  people  and  place  whither 
I  was  going.  The  old  Master,  I  saw,  knew  more 
than  he  chose  to  tell  me.  He  had  been  tutor,  in  for- 
mer days,  to  Lord  Dongmoor,  father  of  my  future 
charge;  but  he  would  give  me  no  information  as  to 
the  character  of  the  Earl.  Only  one  hint  he  did  give, 
with  a  knowing  smile,  as  he  dismissed  me — "  not,  if 
I  could  help  it,  to  fall  in  love  with  her  ladyship !  " — 
Her  ladyship,  as  I  understood,  was  not  Lord  Hart- 
over's  mother,  but  a  second  wife.  Of  Lord  Hart- 
over  himself  he  told  me  nothing:  but  a  fellow-com- 
moner had  wished  me  joy  of  my  pupil,  with  a  shrug 
and  a  sneer,  and  Informed  me  for  my  comfort  that 
the  *'  fellow  was  sent  away  from  Harrow — you'll 
soon  find  out  what  for  " — news  which  was  ill  calcu- 
lated to  raise  my  spirits.  For  the  rest,  I  only  knew 
that  Hover  was  a  very  grand  place,  and  he  who 
owned  it  a  mighty  prince,  possessor  of  half  a  county, 
of  coal  mines,  of  factory  towns,  and,  so  they  said, 
more  than  a  hundred  thousand  a  year,  of  which  last 
I  was  to  receive  for  my  labours,  two  hundred  pounds 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  5 

— so  good  a  bargain  had  the  dear  Master  made  for 
me,  In  consideration — ^as  he  told  me  In  after  years — 
of  my  reputed  virtues,  and  the  exceeding  naughtiness 
of  my  pupil  whom  no  man  living,  It  was  supposed, 
could  manage. 

I  recollect  how  that  day,  as  the  coach  rolled  along 
the  wearisome  road,  I  tried  to  "  take  stock,'*  as  It 
were,  of  my  own  capabilities  for  training  this  Indom- 
itable young  viscount,  and  how  my  heart  sank  within 
me  so  short  did  the  list  appear  I  Very  uncertain 
health;  a  lame  leg;  a  hesitating  mode  of  speech 
which  would  have  been  a  stammer,  without  great 
care  on  my  part; — altogether,  as  my  class  and  my 
school-fellows  had  Informed  me  long  ago,  as  poor 
insignificant  a  little  body  as  any  sturdy  labourer  need 
wish  to  compare  with  his  own,  and  glorify  himself — 
if  it  be  any  comfort  to  him — with  the  contrast.  And, 
for  the  furnishing  of  the  said  poor  little  carcass, 
what  were  there?  A  fair  quantity  of  Latin,  Greek, 
and  mathematics,  certainly.  It  would  have  been  a 
shame  to  me  otherwise;  for  I  had  read  nothing  but 
Latin  and  Greek  ever  since  I  could  read  at  all.  There 
was,  too,  thanks  to  a  life  of  severe  toil,  the  habit  of 
steady  application;  and  perhaps,  I  hoped,  something 
of  the  priceless  *'  art  of  learning,"  which  I  felt  must 
stand  me  in  good  stead,  henceforth.  If  I  was  to  suc- 
ceed. For  I  was  journeying  into  a  new  world,  a 
new  planet,  and  I  really  knew  less  of  Its  laws  than  I 
did  of  those  which  rule  Jupiter  or  the  moon.  Dreary 
and  blank  looked  that  unknown  world  ahead  of  me ; 
I  seemed  to  myself  a  frail  little  cock-boat,  without 


6  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

chart,  without  even  knowing  my  own  destination, 
thrusting  out  upon  a  boundless  sea — whither? 

I  never  was  a  superstitious  or  even  an  excitable 
person;  nor  was  I  overfond  of  those  special  petitions 
— supposed  to  draw  down  in  return  special  interposi- 
tions from  Heaven — upon  which  my  evangelical 
friends  at  Cambridge  used  to  build  so  much.  I  could 
ask  for  strength  and  wisdom  to  do  what  I  knew  to  be 
right;  but  I  shrank  from  thrusting  upon  a  God  Who 
gives  me  every  day  and  all  day  long  more  than  I 
deserve,  rash  entreaties  for  this  and  that  fancied 
benefit  over  and  above.  Still  I  take  no  shame  to 
myself  when  I  confess  that,  closing  my  eyes  and 
leaning  back  as  I  sat  on  the  coach-top,  I  prayed 
earnestly — more  earnestly  than  ever  before  in  my 
life — to  be  kept  out  of  temptation,  and  to  be  taught 
how  to  do  my  duty  as  a  tutor  though  I  had  scantiest 
notion  what  that  duty  might  be.  Humbled  by  the 
sense  of  my  own  loneliness,  ignorance,  incapacity,  I 
cast  myself  on  the  thought  that  I  had  a  Father  in 
Heaven;  and  found,  as  I  have  found  ever  since,  an 
inexhaustible  spring  of  comfort  in  the  thought. 

Amid  such  meditations  I  sat  patiently  the  weary 
day,  mile  after  mile,  stage  after  stage,  through  the 
monotonous  roll  of  the  Mercian  grass-lands  till,  at 
even-fall,  I  began  to  see  the  moors  piled  against  the 
western  sky.  The  coach  stopped  at  last.  In  dark- 
ness, in  a  tidy  little  country  town  which  was  Hart- 
over. 


CHAPTER  II 

I  GOT  down  at  the  comfortable  looking  Longmoor 
Hut  Inn,  and  asked  for  a  conveyance  to  Hover. 
There  was  none  I  was  informed,  in  tones  of  respect 
and  sympathy,  that  "  they  were  very  sorry  and  so 
forth,  but  all  the  flys  were  gone  to  Hover  already. 
That  they  had  never  expected  a  gentleman  so  late  or 
they  would  have  procured  one  on  purpose." 

That  I  should  be  late  for  the  ball;  what  a  pity! 

"The  finest  thing,  sir!  "  said  the  landlady,  seem- 
ing ready  to  weep  over  my  disappointment,  "  that 
has  been  seen  in  this  country  for  ten  years — that's  to 
say,  it  will  be;  for  I  drove  over  this  very  afternoon, 
and  saw  all  the  preparations,  because  the  housekeep- 
er's my  cousin,  sir  " — And  so  forth  and  so  on. 

"  My  dear  madam,"  quoth  I,  "  I  do  not  think  that 
the  ball  will  lose  much  from  my  not  being  there.  You 
see,  I  am  not  a  dancing  man  " — and  I  glanced  my  eye 
down  at  my  poor  foot,  and  saw  her  woman's  eye 
follow,  and  light  up  with  a  pleasant  motherly  expres- 
sion of  interest  and  pity — "  but  I  am  very  anxious 
indeed  to  get  to  Lord  Longmoor's  to-night." 

"  Well,  no  wonder^  no  wonder.  Sad  to  lose  such 
a  sight!  " 

*'  But  Mr.  Braithwaite's  in  the  Commercial  Room, 

and  just  going,"  whispered  her  stalwart  husband, 

"  and  if  he " 

7 


8  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  What?  that  Radical  scum? — And  to  take  a  gen- 
tleman up  to  my  lord's,  who  can't  hear  his  name  with- 
out cursing,  poor  dear  soul?  What  are  you  think- 
ing of?" 

"Well!"  said  the  big  Boniface — "I  always  do 
say  Mr.  Braithwaite's  a  very  sensible,  free  spoken 
gentleman ^" 

"  Gentleman !  "  quoth  she  with  a  scornful  em- 
phasis.   "  What's  he  but  a  tenant  farmer  ?  " 

"  Still  I  was  sorry  when  he  and  his  lordship  fell 
out." 

"  And  so  was  I,"  answered  a  voice  from  behind. 

Turning,  I  saw  a  tall  figure,  wrapt  in  a  drab  driv- 
ing-coat with  seven  capes,  as  was  the  fashion  of  the 
time. 

"What  am  I  wanted  for?"  The  landlady  drew 
back.  "  I  heard  all,  Mrs.  Plummer,  and  found 
that,  as  usual,  listeners  hear  no  good  of  them- 
selves." 

"Well,  sir — why,  sir — ^I'm  sure,  sir!  "  said  Boni- 
face, while  his  wife  was  proudly  silent — "  But  women 
will  meddle  with  politics " 

"  So  much  the  better.  If  they  did  not,  politics 
would  be  very  stupid  things.  So  this  gentleman 
wants  to  go  to  Hover?  " 

"  And  all  the  flys  are  out." 

"  And  therefore  I  must  take  him,  eh?  " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  I  said,  "  I  could  not  think  of  such 
a  thing." 

"  But  I  can.  If  you  don't  like  my  company,  well 
and  good.    I  can  do  without  yours.    But  if  you  have 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  9 

no  objection  to  it,  I  shall  be  glad  enough  of  a  com- 
panion." 

"  But  I  shall  be  taking  you  out  of  your  way." 
"  Only  a  mile  or  so,  and  what  is  that  in  the  country? 
Now !    Where's  your  luggage  ?    A  portmanteau  and 
that  box.     Good.     Put  them  under  the  dennet-seat, 
ostler.    As  for  that  big  box " 

"  It  is  far  too  heavy,  my  dear  sir.  It  is  full  of 
books." 

"  Books,  eh?  Then  you  must  send  it  by  the  coach 
in  the  morning,  Plummer.    Now  are  you  ready?  " 

And,  without  more  ado,  we  rattled  off  through  the 
streets  pleasantly  enough,  to  the  light  of  our  own 
lamps,  with  a  fast-stepping  horse  before  us. 

I,  of  course,  wished  to  get  into  conversation  with 
my  new  acquaintance,  but  I  hardly  knew  how  to  be- 
gin. However  he  forestalled  me  by  breaking  out 
abruptly,  as  soon  as  we  were  outside  of  the  little 
town — 

"  A  box  full  of  books,  eh  ?  And  to  what  end,  pray, 
are  you  carrying  coals  to  Newcastle?  " 

"  Are  there  many  books  at  Hover,  then  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  finest  private  libraries  in  England, 
they  say,  and  never  looked  into  from  year's  end  to 
year's  end.  And  then  the  aristocracy  are  surprised 
that  the  public  envies  them,  and  so  forth !  Was  the 
cow  much  to  be  blamed,  sir,  when  she  envied  the  dog 
in  the  manger?  " 

"  I  shall  take  good  care  that  there  is  someone  to 
read  them  in  future,"  I  said  joyfully  enough. 

"  What,  are  you  a  scholar?  " 


lo  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY, 

"  I  am  just  from  Cambridge.'' 

"  Full  of  Latin,  Greek,  and  mathematics,  or  of 
Newmarket  and  rat-hunting?    Which?  " 

"  Certainly  not  of  the  latter.  Equally  certainly 
not  half  enough  of  the  former." 

"  Latin  and  Greek?  Ah!  there  you  fellows  have 
the  whip-hand  of  us  manufacturing  men  after  all. 
Humph — And  what  good  are  your  classics  going  to 
do  you  at  this  ball?  " 

"  I  am  not  going  to  the  ball,"  said  I,  laughing.  "  I 
am  going  to  be  private  tutor  to  Lord  Hartover." 

"Wheughl  And  what  are  you  going  to  teach 
him?" 

*'  I  have  not  the  slightest  notion,"  I  answered, 
laughing  again.  "  A  little  Latin  and  Greek  I  sup- 
pose— and  also  to  be  a  good  boy — if  I  have  the 
chance." 

"Poor  devil!" 

"Which?    He  or  I?" 

**  Well — both  of  you,  I  should  say.  Curious  cus- 
tom in  England — is  it  not — that  the  more  responsi- 
bility anyone  has  the  less  education  is  required  to 
meet  it.  A  farmer  has  to  learn  his  trade  from  youth.. 
A  law-shark  must  begin  by  snapping  at  minnows  for 
seven  years  or  so  before  he  is  considered  fit  to  swal- 
low big  fish.  But  your  nobleman  is  taken  for  granted. 
Anyone  can  manage  half  a  county.  At  Cambridge,  I 
hear,  you  common  sons  of  earth — for,  I  presume  I 
have  not  the  honour  of  speaking  to  a  nobleman,  or 
even  to  a  squire  in  prospect?  " 

"  Most  distinctly  not.     I  haven't  a  thing  in  the 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  ii 

world  but  what  I  carry  on  my  back  and  In  my  boxes 
and  my  brains." 

"  Well — you  common  sons  of  earth  require  three 
years  to  get  your  degree.  Your  young  noblemen 
only  two,  eh  ?  " 

''  True." 

"  Then  what  hope  have  you  of  educating  this  lad, 
when  society  Itself  and  the  very  divines  of  your  Eng- 
lish Church  are  telling  him  that  he  need  not  be  edu- 
cated? Where  Is  the  use  of  selling  your  liberty,  be- 
coming a  flunkey  and  a  hanger-on  of  these  great  folk 
when  you  know  that  you  can't  do  what  you  profess  to 
do,  because  you  won't  be  allowed  to  do  It?  " 

I  was  Inclined  to  be  nettled.  But  why  be  angry? 
The  man  was  in  the  act  of  doing  me  a  kindness.  He 
was  evidently  no  ordinary  person.  And,  after  all, 
it  Is  not  often  In  this  world  that  one  has  the  chance 
of  hearing  the  plain  truth.    Therefore  I  answered — 

"  I  sell  my  liberty,  sir,  because  I  am  a  penniless 
orphan,  and  must  live.  What  my  duty  by  this  boy 
may  be  I  do  not  know;  but  I  suppose  God  will  show 
me.  And  if  He  does  show  me  I  suppose  that  He  will 
give  me  sense  and  courage  to  do  It." 

My  companion  turned  round  sharply  on  me,  and 
looked  at  me  keenly  from  under  his  hat.  The  night 
was  so  bright  that  we  could  both  see  each  other 
plainly  enough. 

At  last  he  spoke. 

"  If  you  talk  In  that  way,  young  man,  and  mean 
what  you  say,  you  have  come  where  you  are  wanted. 
I  did  not  intend  to  offend  you." 


12  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

*'  You  have  not  offended  me  in  the  least.  I  am 
glad  to  hear  truth;  for " 

I  checked  myself,  since  I  was  about  to  say  I  did 
not  expect  to  hear  any  more  for  some  time  to  come. 

He  was  silent  again.  Then  turning  in  his  abrupt 
way — 

"  God  will  show  you  your  duty,  you  think?  Very 
good;  but  you  don't  expect  special  revelations  or  in- 
structions direct  from  on  high?  " 

''  No." 

"  Then  what  if  He  showed  you  by  the  plain  mouth 
of  a  rational  man,  old  enough  to  be  your  father?  " 

"  A  very  likely  method,"  I  replied.  "  Have  you 
any  advice  to  give  me?  " 

*'  I  have.  People  call  me  a  Radical  and  a  destruc- 
tive. I  know  what  I  am;  and  this  I  know — I  don't 
like  these  great  noblemen.  I  consider  them  a  great 
national  evil.  But  here  they  are;  and  we  can't  get 
rid  of  them." 

"  Perhaps  because  we  ought  not?  " 

"  Perhaps  so.  I  have  altered  my  opinions  in  my 
life  on  most  things,  and  may  alter  them  again.  But 
here  these  noblemen  are,  and  will  be :  and  our  busi- 
ness— your  business,  rather — is  to  make  the  best  of 
them,  by  making  them  the  best  they  can  be.  Try  to 
make  that  lad  a  good  nobleman — never  mind  his 
Latin  and  Greek,  or  anything  else  but  what  will  for- 
ward your  doing  so." 

"  To  that  end  I  should  have  to  know  what  a  noble- 
man ought  to  be." 

"  Then  find  out.    Of  what  use  is  your  scholarship 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  13 

to  you,  if  it  won't  teach  you  that?  I  have  read  his- 
tory enough  to  see  that  there  have  been,  in  all  ages, 
men  possessed  of  arbitrary  power  and  exclusive  rank 
to  which  they  had  no  right — yet  they  used  their  rank 
and  power  well.  That  poor  boy  will  have  power — 
immense  power — to  which  he  has  no  more  right  than 
his  own  groom.  Teach  him  for  his  own  sake,  as  well 
as  for  half  a  county's  sake,  to  use  it  well,  and  to  be  a 
good  nobleman  if  a  nobleman  he  must  be.  Do  that. 
And  work  enough  you'll  have  to  do  it." 

"How  so?" 

"  He  is  an  awful  pickle,  they  say — small  wonder, 
with  the  example  he  gets.  You  have  heard,  of 
course,  how  he  served  your  wretched  predecessor?  " 

*'  No." 

"  Ah  ha  I  If  you  had  perhaps  you  would  not  be 
here.  Threw  him  out  of  the  window,  and  then 
stood  a  regular  siege  in  his  own  room,  threatening  to 
shoot  anyone  who  entered;  till  he  capitulated  at  last 
on  a  full  pardon,  and  marched  out  with  colours  flying 
and  a  double-barrel  gun  over  his  shoulder." 

*'  Alas  for  me !  But  I  am  not  likely  to  infuriate 
him  to  trying  physical  force." 

"  So  much  the  better.    There,  let's  talk  of  some- 
thing else. — Gate  ho !  " 
We  had  reached  the  lodge  of  the  Enchanted  Castle. 

Gates  opened  to  us  beneath  the  shadow  of  enor- 
mous trees,  and  we  drove  in. 

"  How  far  are  we  from  the  house?  " 

"  Only  three  miles.  Three  miles  of  good  land  be- 
tween us  and  the  big  men,  wasted  upon  deer  and 


14  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

game,  instead  of  growing  corn  and  turnips. — 
Humph." 

We  drove  on  for  some  time  again  in  silence 
through  the  park — Hartover  Chase,  as  my  compan- 
ion called  it — over  open  heather  and  moor,  sparkling 
with  glow-worms,  where  the  night-jar  flapped  and 
twisted  under  our  horse's  nose,  and  then  flitted  away- 
ghostly  into  the  dark  to  churr  like  a  stocking  loom; 
past  deep  gulfs  of  black  wood,  through  which  rose 
the  tinkle  of  hidden  rills;  along  black  avenues  of  pine, 
our  lamps  flashing  blood-red  upon  their  elephantine 
stems,  till  we  saw,  right  in  front,  what  appeared  to 
me  at  first  a  great  square  mountain,  black  against  the 
dappled  cloud  and  pierced  with  fine  oblong  sheets  of 
blazing  light. 

"  Can  that  be  the  house  ?    It  must  be  a  huge  pile." 

*'  It  is  so.  And  those  are  the  fine  windows  of  the 
great  hall,  where  they  are  caracoling  and  caprioling 
now.  Yes,  young  man,  there  is  the  Enchanted  Castle, 
and  the  Enchantress  in  it  at  the  height  of  her  sorce- 
ries.   Take  care  that  she  does  not  enchant  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  You  will  find  out  soon  enough,  sir.  I  only  say, 
take  care  lest  you  go  the  way  which  as  fine  young 
fellows  as  you,  for  aught  I  know,  have  gone  already. 
No — don't  ask  me  any  more." 

I  thought  it  well  to  change  the  subject. 

*'  You  consider  this  land,  then,  as  wasted?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

And  then  began  a  conversation  upon  matters  for 
which  the  reader  jyill  not  care.    On  farming,  rural 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  15 

economy,  the  state  of  the  poor,  which  he  represented 
as  frightful;  and,  lastly,  on  the  proposed  new  Poor 
Law,  then  just  being  agitated,  and  of  which,  I  found, 
my  companion  was  a  strong  supporter.  We  were  in 
the  midst  of  a  discussion  equally  new  and  interesting 
to  me,  when  he  pulled  up  at  a  large  pair  of  iron 
gates. 

"  Here,  we  will  go  in  the  back  way.  The  flunkies 
are  all  upstairs  by  now,  and  we  may  chance  to  find  a 
groom  here.  Now,  I  hope  our  last  quarter  of  an 
hour  has  shown  you  a  little  of  what  a  nobleman 
might  do?" 

"  It  has  indeed,"  said  I,  sadly  enough. 

"  Don't  be  downhearted.  Perhaps  there  were  no 
flys  at  Hartover  for  a  very  good  reason." 

*'  I  am  thankful  enough  there  were  none." 

"  Then  come  and  see  me  when  you  can.  I  am  but 
three  miles  off.  Though  if  you  wish  to  keep  on  good 
terms  with  these  folk,  you  had  best  neither  say  that 
you  are  coming  or  that  I  brought  you  here.  So  per- 
haps you  will  prefer  not  risking  further  acquaintance 
while  you  stay  in  the  Enchanted  Castle  ?  " 

I  assured  him  earnestly  that  was  not  the  case  and, 
getting  down,  rang  the  bell.  There  was  a  noise  of 
bustle  enough  inside;  but  no  sign  of  the  door  being 
opened. 

At  last  someone  came  across  from  what  seemed 
to  be  the  stables — a  short  stout  bandy-legged  man, 
lanthorn  in  hand. 

**  Wha's  here  now?  "  asked  he  in  broad  Yorkshire, 

**  Warcop,  is  it  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Braithwaitej, 


1 6  THE  TUTOR^S  STORY 

"  Mr.  Braithwaite !  Wha'd  ha'  thought  o'  meet- 
ing you  this  time  o'  night !  I  was  just  roun'  to  see  t' 
harses  all  safe ;  for  my  lads  '11  be  all  drunk  by  now,  a 
murrain  on  'em." 

"And  here  of  all  places,  eh?  Fve  brought  over 
my  lord's  new  tutor,  as  there  was  no  fly  at  Plum- 
mer's." 

"  Just  like  you.  I'll  get  the  lad's  things  out  in  a 
minute " 

*'  Do — for  fear  I  should  be  caught  and  put  under 
the  pump,  eh?  "  and  he  laughed. 

To  which  Warcop  answered,  with  a  strong  word, 
that  they  were  all  much  too  busy,  "  playing  Bedlam 
up  there  with  their  dancing  and  their  suppering,  to 
fash  themselves  with  honest  men  like  you  and  me." 

The  two  shook  hands.  Mr.  Warcop  led  me  in, 
and  began  shouting  in  a  voice  of  command — 

*'  Here,  you  lazy  Southron  towlers  1  What  are 
you  licking  your  fingers  owre  t'  dishes  for,  and  my 
lord's  new  tutor  waiting  outside,  wi'  nebbod  to  carry 
up  his  porkmankle?  An'  here's  t'  grey  mare's  feet 
never  stapt,  and  t'  lanthorn  alight  in  t'  saddle  room. 
'Od,  but  I'll  discharge  the  lot  of  ye  the  morn,  and 
groom  t'  harses  myself." 

Whereon  out  shambled,  from  some  servants'  hall, 
three  or  four  crab-legged  grooms  in  drab,  who 
seemed  all  of  them  a  little  the  worse  for  liquor. 

"  Hoot,  ye  tykes !  I'll  carry  the  gentleman's  pork- 
mankle up  myself.  An'  when  I  come  down  again,  the 
lad  o'  ye  that's  not  in  bed  shall  gang  the  morn.  Why 
are  ye  no  happed  up  this  hour?    Ye're  no  wanted  to 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  17 

rin  at  the  lasses'  hocks  like  they  flunkies  upstairs. — 
Come  wi'  me,  sir!  " 

And  I  went  with  him — up  stairways,  through  swing 
doors,  along  galleries — stairs,  swing  doors,  galleries 
— till  I  was  utterly  bewildered.    At  last  I  laughed. 

"  What  are  ye  laughing  for  then?  " 

"  I  couldn't  help  thinking  that  if  I  wanted  to  run 
away  I  was  as  safe  as  in  any  gaol;  for  find  my  way 
out  of  this  place  again  I  could  not." 

"  Hoots — there's  many  another  has  said  the  same, 
and  had  cause  to  say  It,"  quoth  Warcop,  in  meaning 
earnest. 

The  third  time  that  that  warning  had  come — from 
the  Master,  from  Mr.  Braithwaite,  and  now  from  a 
servant  of  the  family. 

We  stopped  at  last  in  a  large  room,  somewhat  low, 
but  spacious  and  pleasant. 

"  This'll  be  your  sitting-room,  I  suppose,"  as  he 
put  down  the  luggage.  "  Yonder's  my  lord's  bed- 
room; and  this,  I  take  It,  will  be  yours.  At  least  I 
heard  Mr.  Marsigli  say  so  to  his  lordship's  valet. 
The  tyke's  In  the  supper-room  now,  I'll  warrant,  sip- 
ping champagne  on  the  sly.  Now,  sir,  will  ye  eat 
or  drink?" 

No — I  had  dined  already. 

'*  Not  a  glass  o'  spirits  then,  before  ye  go  to  bed?  " 

"  No,  I  seldom  drink  anything  but  water." 

*' Ye  dinnot?"  and  he  looked  fixedly  at  me. 
"  Then  ye're  t'  man  for  this  hoos." 

"  I  shall  sit  up  till  Lord  Hartover  comes  to  bed." 

"Ye  will?"— with  another  fixed  look.     ''Well, 


:i8  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

mayhap  it's  better,  mayhap  it's  better.  But  ye'll  no 
be  hard  on  t'  poor  lad?  " 

"Hard  on  him?    Why?" 

"  Well,  ye  see,"  in  an  apologetic  tone.  "  He's  a 
pretty  lad  as  ever  crossed  a  pigskin,  let  wha  will  be  t' 
other.  But  he  ne'er  had  a  mammy,  ye  see,  poor  lad. 
Ne'er  had  a  mammy.  She  died  when  he  was  born, 
sir,  worse  pity  for  him  and  all  the  country-side;  for 
an  angel  unto  heaven  she  was,  body  and  soul.  But 
that  is  no  use  to  him,  sir,  unless  she  prays  for  him  at 
whiles  up  in  paradise,  as  I  oft  times  think  she 
must " 

And  the  man's  voice,  which  had  become  tenderer 
and  tenderer  with  every  word,  quite  faltered. 

I  looked  at  him.  He  was  evidently  some  sort  of 
superintendent  of  horses — stud-groom,  as  I  found  out 
afterwards,  was  the  name  of  his  office.  His  face  below 
was  like  that  of  a  bulldog,  square  and  heavy-jawed, 
with  beetling  brows  over  smooth  shaved  cheeks, 
brick-red  from  sun  and  rain,  and  eyes  of  humour  and 
considerable  cunning,  too.  Above  all  was  a  very 
large  brain,  covered  with  crisp  grey  hair,  like  that  of 
a  wiry  terrier. — I  was  surprised  at  the  union  of  such  a 
brain  with  such  a  jaw.  Unaccustomed  to  horsey  men, 
and  therefore  prejudiced  against  them,  I  was  not 
aware  of  the  amount  of  character  which  is  both  re- 
quired and  called  out  in  the  higher  branches  of  the 
great  English  horse-world.  I  have  seen  plenty  of  it 
since,  as  these  pages  will  show;  but  I  never  yet  saw 
either  stud-groom,  huntsman,  or  whip,  worth  his 
place,  who  was  not  at  the  same  time  very  clever,  and 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  19. 

very  determined. — A  drab  shooting  jacket  over  a 
chest  of  great  breadth,  and  drab  breeches  and  gaiters 
upon  legs  bent  nearly  to  half-moons,  completed  the 
outward  man  of  my  new  friend — for  friend  I  felt  he 
would  be,  if  only  for  the  sentiment  which  had  just 
glimmered  through  his  most  unsentimental  outside. 

He  bowed  himself  out  civilly.  I  offered  him,  I 
hardly  knew  why,  my  hand.  He  took  it,  and  his  face 
lightened  up. 

"  Ye  seem  a  civil  sober  young  gentleman  by  your 
face.  Now,  try  to  be  a  father  to  t'  dear  lad,  and 
make  a  mon  of  him;  and  dinnot  ye,  dinnot  ye  fash 
him  wi'  over  much  skeuling." 

I  smiled,  and  promised  to  do  my  best. 

*'  Now,"  I  said,  "  stop  and  tell  me  one  thing  more ; 
unless  you  want  to  go  to  bed?  " 

*'  Na.  He  had  na  mind  to  hap  up,  till  he  was  sure 
t'  hoos  wadna  be  burnt  owre  his  head  wi'  drunken 
flunkies.    What  did  I  want?  " 

"  First — who  was  that  Mr.  Braithwaite  that 
brought  me  here?  " 

"  A  canny  Yorkshireman  and  true.  Out  to  Craven, 
where  he — the  speaker — too  cam  fra.  And  na  bet- 
ter friend  to  gentle  or  simple  if  they'd  take  'tent  by 
him.  But  he  was  like  wisdom  crying  in  the  streets, 
and  nebbody'd  hearken." 

"  Was  he  a  farmer?  " 

*'  Yes — now — And  no  such  farmer  round,  with  his 
steam  engines  and  his  machinery.  They  brak  'em  for 
him  a'  twice,  and  he  just  monded  them  and  went  on. 
There's  no  daunting  a  Yorkshireman.    But  he  was 


20  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

rich  enough  once,  and  had  a  busy  mill  by  Leeds 
somewhere,  I've  heard  say.  But  my  lord — that's  my 
young  lord's  father — winnot  abide  him  because  he's 
a  Radical,  more's  the  pity.  But  he  and  I  are  good 
friends,  for  we  are  both  from  canny  Craven,  ye  see." 

I  did  not  care  to  ask  more,  for  I  was  really  very 
tired;  and  let  the  good  man  go. 

I  looked  round  the  room,  which,  I  soon  found,  was 
in  sad  confusion.  Cigar  ashes  and  ends  on  the  chim- 
ney-piece, whips  and  spurs  lying  about.  A  terrier 
before  the  fire,  who  woke  and  all  but  bit  me. — I  must 
put  it  somewhat  to  rights  to-morrow,  if  I  was  to 
spend  the  next  year  or  so  of  my  life  in  it — Books 
there  were  none,  save  a  tattered  Latin  grammar 
and  dictionary,  and  some  French  novels  which  I 
could  not  understand,  and  an  abominable  book 
called  ''  Tom  and  Jerry,"  which  I  had  once  glanced 
at  at  Cambridge,  and  vowed  to  burn  on  the  first 
opportunity.  The  walls  were  covered  with  prints 
and  caricatures,  pasted  on;  and  I  entertained  myself 
with  looking  at  these  for  a  full  hour.  The  prints 
were  chiefly  French,  Opera  girls  and  such  like. 
Many  of  them  I  would  rather  not  have  found  in 
the  room  of  a  boy  of  sixteen.  But  I  knew  that  there 
is  a  licence  on  that  point  in  great  houses  which  it  is 
in  vain  to  combat;  and  I  suspected  already,  what  I 
am  now  certain  of,  namely,  that  the  licence  which 
the  upper  classes  permit  as  to  pictures  and  statues  is 
far  less  hurtful  than  the  prudery  of  the  middle-class. 
You'  must  either  destroy  such  things  or  accustom 
young  people  to  them.     The  former  is  impossible. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  21 

The  latter  is  therefore  the  wiser,  and  perhaps  the 
purer,  method. 

The  caricatures,  however,  amused  me,  I  being  too 
tired  in  body  and  mind  to  care  for  anything  but 
amusement.  They  were  principally  sporting  ones 
by  Bunbury,  Broadstow,  North,  and  Aiken;  and  I 
spent  my  time  so  pleasantly  in  watching  unhappy 
gentlemen  tumbling  over  enormous  rails,  or  tri- 
umphant ones  sweeping  over,  to  me,  impossible 
brooks,  that  I  forgot  my  fatigue  until  long  after  the 
clock  on  the  mantel-piece  had  struck  one.  Little  did 
I  think  that  within  six  months  I  should  be  sharing, 
club-foot  and  all,  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  those  red- 
coated  heroes  on  the  walls. 


CHAPTER  III 

I  WAS  just  settling  down  again  to  wait  in  patience 
for  my  pupil's  advent,  when  there  came  a  tap  at  the 
door  and  Warcop  re-entered. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  they've  done  supper  and 
I  thought  you  might  like  to  have  a  look  at  the  ball." 

"  I  should  certainly,  if  I  can  do  so  without  in- 
truding." 

"Oh!  that's  easy  enough  from  this  room,  if  you 
don't  mind  meeting  a  trifle  of  backstairs  company." 

He  piloted  me  down  winding  stone  steps,  along  a 
passage,  and  by  a  swing-door  through  which  came 
sounds  of  music  and  revelry. 

This  brought  us  into  a  low  dark  gallery — in  which 
I  made  out  two  or  three  female  figures,  upper  ser- 
vants as  I  supposed  bent  on  the  same  errand  as  our- 
selves— whence  we  looked  down,  over  a  waist-high 
parapet,  at  such  a  sight  as  I  had  never  seen  before. 

A  vast  hall,  more  than  a  hundred  feet  long  and 
some  fifty  broad.  Round  three  sides  of  it,  high  in 
the  wall,  ran  a  clerestory,  under  the  arches  of  which 
we  now  stood.  At  the  opposite  end  violins  screamed 
and  brazen  trumpets  brayed.  On  the  fourth  side  tall 
mullioned  windows,  almost  from  ceiling  to  ground, 
reflected  the  lights  in  their  coloured  panes.  As  to 
the  ceiling — I  had  no  time  to  look  at  it  then,  though 
it  is,  so  architects  say,  one  of  the  finest  Tudor  ceilings 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  23 

In  England,  for  my  eyes  were  drawn  down  at  once  to 
the  living  garden  below,  which  surged  to  and  fro 
between  lemon  and  orange  trees  laden  with  golden 
fruit,  and  masses  of  gaudy  flowers  piled  against  the 
wall — not  so  gaudy  though  as  the  human  flowers  be- 
side them,  who  whirled  in  the  dance  like  brilliant 
humming-birds.  A  fairy  palace  in  truth,  thought  I 
to  myself,  as  I  gazed  and  gazed,  dazzled  with  light 
and  movement  and  colour.  And  no  wonder,  for, 
over  and  above  the  gay  dresses  of  the  ladles,  the  men 
were  all  dressed  In  red  coats  and  tight  nankeen 
breeches.  Half  of  the  red  coats,  I  saw,  had  black 
collars,  half  of  them  blue;  while  many  of  them,  far 
from  being  new,  were  stained  and  soiled  exceedingly. 
The  mass  of  red  tired  the  eye,  and  forced  it  to  rest 
for  refreshment  on  the  green  of  the  shrubs  around. 
As  for  the  women,  they  would  have  looked  pret- 
tier— I  must  say  It — now,  than  they  did  then.  For 
that  was  the  day  of  short  petticoats,  gigot  sleeves, 
high  waists,  and  hair  frizzed  up  and  out  like  that  of 
Juvenal's  Roman  dames.  Among  the  many  Improve- 
ments which  I  have  seen  in  my  time,  I  must  value — 
though,  old  fogy  as  I  am,  what  can  it  matter  to  me ! 
— the  improvement  In  ladies'  dress.  Old  fogy  that 
I  am?  Well — I  was  a  young  fogy  then;  but  born, 
like  Falstaff,  "  an  old  man,"  their  dress  was  as  unim- 
portant to  me  In  the  year  1829  as  It  is  to-day.  Never- 
theless, I  enjoyed  the  sight  thoroughly.  Why  not? 
God  had  made  them,  and  all  their  youth,  health,  and 
happiness.  God  had  made  their  silks  and  satins, 
jewels,  and  flowers  too.     Why  then  grudge  them  a 


24  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

moment's  pleasure?  What  was  it  to  me  that  they 
were  enjoying  themselves  in  a  way  impossible  to  me, 
the  poor  lame  scholar?  Every  man  has  his  gift,  and 
his  compensation.  I  had  mine  already  in  the  thought 
of  the  splendid  library.  This  affair  was  not  in  my 
line.  True,  but  the  world  would  be  a  barren  place 
indeed  had  it  no  line  but  mine.  Let  life  be  as  broad 
as  it  can.  And  so  let  them  dance,  and  flirt,  I  say;  and 
Heaven's  blessing  on  all  they  do  right,  and  Heaven's 
mercy  on  all  they  do  wrong. 

I  watched  and  watched,  as  greedily  as  a  boy  at  a 
pantomime,  till  Warcop,  who  was  evidently  enjoying 
the  scene  as  much  as  I,  whispered  to  me,  quite  awe- 
struck : 

"  An'  what  do  ye  think  o'  that?  " 

"  That  is  the  most  beautiful  sight  I  ever  saw  In  my 
life." 

"Ah!  ha!  ha!  you've  spoken  truth.  I've  been  in 
a'  the  greatest  houses  in  England,  forbye  Windsor 
Castle  itself  i'  the  owd  King's  time,  and  I  dinnot  say 
but  what  there  are  twa  or  three  can  cap  us,  but  nae 
mair  1  And  we've  getten  the  money,  and  no  afraid 
to  spend  it." 

Here  one  of  the  women  I  had  noticed  when  first 
entering  the  gallery  approached,  walked  past  us 
leisurely,  with  a  pretty  mincing  tread,  turned  on 
reaching  the  swing-door  and  began  sauntering  back. 
She  was  young,  trimly  though  fashionably  dressed  in 
rustling  black  silk.  I  caught  a  glance  of  flashing 
black  eyes  in  a  pale  handsome  face. 

"  My  lady's  French  Mamzell  Fedore  trying  to 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  25 

size  up  my  young  lord's  new  tutor,"  Warcop  growled 
under  his  breath.  His  tone  surprised  and  somewhat 
displeased  me.  But  he  spoke,  as  I  judged,  less  to 
me  than  to  himself,  so  I  let  it  pass  and,  to  change  the 
subject,  asked  him  the  meaning  of  the  red  coats. 

''What?  Didn't  ye  ken  this  is  the  twa  hunts' 
ball?" 

"  No — you  must  remember  I  am  a  new-comer." 

"  Aye,  aye.  Well  ye  see  latter  end  o'  season  we 
brought  fox  out  o'  Thatcher's  Gorse. — Ye'U  no  ken 
Thatcher's  Gorse,  in  course? — Well,  it's  far  side 
our  country  and  we  were  into  t'  Bramhall  coverts  in 
ten  minutes.  Bramhall  was  drawing  and  picked  fox 
oop.  We  picked  him  oop  same  moment.  I'd 
sweart'  owd  Challenger — badger-pied  hound  he  is — 
brought  him  oop  to  t'  side  and  into  Bramhall  pack. 
They  say  he  didn't — I  say  he  did.  And,  'od,  sir! 
we  were  both  out  together." 

What  his  story  meant,  I  could  not  clearly  under- 
stand then.  I  learnt  to  know  well  enough  in  after 
years. 

"  'Od,  sir,  and  there  we  was,"  he  repeated.  "  Twa 
packs  o'  hounds  and  twa  fields  o'  gentlemen.  And 
wha'll  see  two  better?  Ten  thousand  pounds'  worth 
o'  horse-flesh,  a'  i'  the  lump  and  a'  racing." 

Here  Mr.  Warcop  clenched  his  outstretched  fist, 
as  if  overcome  with  the  magnificence  of  his  recollec- 
tions. 

"  0mm — I  should  like  any  of  the  Johnny  Cra- 
pauds  " — with  a  glance  at  Mademoiselle,  still  linger- 
ing in  our  neighbourhood — "  or  their  cavalry  to  ha' 


26  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

seen  yon  sight  when  they  were  thinking  o'  invading 
England.  'Od,  sir !  it  'ud  'a  taken  oot  their  back- 
bones, toad-eating  Frenchmen,  to  see  a  hundred  and 
twenty  red  coats  riding  at  sixteen  miles  an  hour  owre 
a  country  where  they  couldn't  ha'  got  fra  one  field 
to  the  next." 

And  he  looked  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  to  see 
whether  Mademoiselle  Fedore  was  listening. 

"  Well,  sir,  as  we  got  awa'  the  Colonel — that's  our 
Master — cooms  alongside  o'  me.  And  *  Warcop,' 
sez  he,  ^  can  we  ride  'em?  '  '  And  why  for  not?  '  sez 
I.  *  They're  braw  rakes,'  sez  he.  '  And  they  ought 
to  be,'  sez  I,  '  being  they  be  Bramhalls.'  *  But 
they've  got  us  in  their  ain  country,  they'll  cut  us 
down,'  sez  he.  *  We'll  howd  our  own  along  the  fells; 
but  they'll  cut  us  down  i'  the  clay  vale.'  ^  Bid  the 
light  weights  howd  hard,'  sez  I,  '  and  make  a  wait- 
ing race  of  it.  Colonel ' — an'  he  did.  An',  headies, 
he  had  a  bonnie  half-hour.  I've  seen  too  many  good 
runs  to  aggravate  a  burst,  but  twenty-eight  minutes 
and  three-quarters  it  was  by  my  owld  turnip.  Pack 
against  pack,  man  against  man ;  and  nebbody  turnit, 
nebbody  cranit  out  o'  hundred  and  twenty  blessed 
pinks.  And  when  we  ran  him  to  earth  at  Weatherly 
clay  pits,  I  was  first  and  young  Squire  Hardcastle 
there  " — he  pointed  to  someone  in  the  crowd  below 
— ''  was  owre  t'  last  fence  after  me.  God  bless  him 
for  a  straight  rider!  " 

"And  where  were  the  Bramhall  gentlemen?"  I 
asked,  amused  by  his  extreme  enthusiasm  for  what 
was  to  me  an  utterly  new  phase  of  human  life. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  27 

"  Hoo — where  should  they  be?  Riding  bonnily. 
Three  o'  them  were  just  ahint  me  and  t'  Squire ;  and 
ahint  them  our  Colonel  Jack.  Ye'll  no  hae  seen  Col- 
onel Jack?  " 

''  No." 

"Then  ye'll  hae  need  to;  for  he's  master  here — 
that  is— Whisht.    Wha'  was  I  talking  o'  ?  " 

And  Mr.  Warcop,  seemingly  led  beyond  York- 
shire caution  by  sporting  excitement,  got  back  as 
soon  as  he  could  to  his  long  story. 

"  Her  Ladyship  was  out,  wi'  the  ponies,  and  drove 
the  roads  full  gallop.  On'  but  she's  a  lovely  whip — 
and,  by  luck's  luck,  nicked  in  for  the  finish.  She  gav' 
me  a  silver-headed  crop  for  my  day's  work.  And 
for  the  rest — *  Gentlemen,'  she  says,  *  I  can't  repay 
ye  all  singly  for  the  splendid  sight ' — those  were  her 
words — *  ye've  afforded  me.  But  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  giving  a  ball  to  both  hunts  when  I  come 
back  fra  toun.'  An'  ye  see  she's  been  as  good  as  her 
word,  gentle  and  simple,  nobleman  and  farmer. 
They're  all  here  that  rid  that  day." 

"  What,"  I  asked,  "  are  any  of  these  men  In  red 
coats  farmers?  " 

"  'Deed  they  be.  We  expect  all  our  farmers  to 
ride  in  pink — wi'  our  black  collar,  ye  see.  The 
Bramhall  are  no  that  particular.  But  then  ye  ken 
they're  not  the  like  o'  us." 

"  And  are  their  wives  and  daughters  here  ?  " 

"  'Deed  then  they  are,  a'  them  that  wad  coom,  an' 
bonny  lasses  too,  and  bonny  lads.  See,  there's  my 
leddy  leading  off  now  wi'  a  young  farmer;  and  that 


2§  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

lass  below  her,  wi'  my  lord  John,  she's  a  yeoman's 
daughter — and  finely  they  dance,  too." 

I  looked  with  increased  interest  at  the  stalwart 
young  fellow,  with  huge  black  whiskers  and  the 
figure  of  a  life-guardsman,  with  whom  Her  Mag- 
nificence was  just  leading  off,  chatting,  and  tossing 
back  her  beautiful  head,  while  the  poor  fool,  half 
sheepish,  half  proud  of  his  own  good  looks  and  good 
fortune,  was  dancing  away — just  as  well  as  anyone 
else — evidently  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  harmless 
vanity.  Though — was  it  harmless? — At  all  events 
here  was  none  of  that  gulf  between  class  and  class  of 
which  I  had  heard;  and  I  whispered  something  of 
the  kind  to  the  shrewd  Yorkshireman. 

As  I  expected  he  had  his  answer  ready. 

"  Omm — Your  real  quality  ha'  gotten  so  muckle 
dignity,  that  they  can  just  let  it  a'  take  care  o'  itself. 
It's  only  your  newcomer  upstarts,  that  ha'  gotten  but 
little,  that  must  needs  nurse  it,  like  plant  in  a  pot,  for 
fear  it  wither.  An'  I'll  warrant  some  wither  it  often 
enough,  with  the  saut  tears  o'  envy,  hatred,  and 
malice — Eh,  Mamzell?  Isn't  that  a  bonny  young 
paysan^  as  you  ca'  them,  that  my  leddy's  dancing 
wi'?" 

This  to  the  Frenchwoman  who,  coming  closer,  had 
taken  her  stand  by  his  side,  looking  down,  simper- 
ing yet  supercilious — as  I  fancied — at  the  scene 
below — 

'^  Tiensf — beau  garcon^  mais  horrihlement  mal 
misr 

*'  I  can't  understand  your  lingo,  ye  ken." 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  29 

"  But  a  very — how  do  you  say? — ill-dressed  boy. 
And  the  woman  paysannes — augh! — how  they  are 
badly  put.  What  guys  they  have  make  themselves — 
augh!" 

"  You'd  like  well  enough  to  be  dancing  among 
them  though,"  said  Warcop,  who  seemed  to 
have  a  peculiar  spite  against  handsome  •  Made- 
moiselle. 

"  And  I  hope  I  could  dance  better  than  those 
clumsy  things,  and  dress  myself  better,  too." 

"  Fine  feathers  make  foul  birds,"  quoth  Warcop 
under  his  breath. 

"  And  what  canaille  for  nobles  to  dance  with !  " 
she  went  on. 

"  The  grapes  are  a  bit  sour,  Mamzell,"  quoth 
Warcop,  this  time  not  under  his  breath. 

"  But  where  is  his  lordship?  "  asked  I,  not  wishing 
to  witness  a  quarrel. 

''Eh!  I  haven't  seen  him  since  supper.  You'll 
see  him  come  in  soon — a  pretty  lad — owre  white  a 
bit;  but  ribbed  up  like  a  northern  hound  and  thor- 
oughbred as  Eclipse." 

"  I  mean  the  Earl,  his  father '' 

"  0mm !  Did  ye  no  ken  then?  Poor  dear  gentle- 
man! He's  to  bed  since  ten  o'clock.  He  always  is 
happed  up  at  ten,  wi'  flannel  to  his  legs  and  flannel  to 
his  head,  any  time  this  dozen  years.  God  send  him 
good  rest  to-night !  " 

There  was  a  tone  in  Warcop's  voice  which  I  could 
not  fathom — whether  compassionate  or  contemptu- 
ous, or  both.    However,  it  was  clear  the  great  gen- 


30  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

tleman's  absence  was  not  important  to  the  company. 
It  might  prove  so,  though,  to  me. 

"  But  why's  my  young  lord  no  here  yet?  "  Warcop 
said  again,  looking  over  the  groups  below.  "  Mam- 
zell,  ha'  ye  seen  Lord  Hartover  t'-night?  " 

Mademoiselle  muttered  something  about  it's  be- 
ing no  business  of  hers.  To  which  Warcop  replied 
sternly — 

"I  never  said  'tw^as;  but  tha's  no  reason  ye 
mightn't  ken.    I'll  go  and  see."    And  off  he  went. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed,  during  which  I 
looked  on.  Warcop  had  not  been  gone  five  minutes 
before  Mademoiselle  began  on  me. 

''  N'est-ce  pas  heau,  Monsieur?    Magnifiquef^^ 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  do  not  understand 
French." 

I  little  knew  then  how  important  a  confession  I 
had  made.  Little  knew  how  bitterly  I  should  regret, 
hereafter,  my  ignorance  of  the  language  of  the  mod- 
ern world,  which,  much  as  I  love  the  dear  old 
University — my  mother  once,  now  my  bride — I 
must  say  she  ought  to  teach  us  if  it  be  but  for  three 
months,  and  to  a  fairly  apt  scholar  no  more  is 
required. 

"  Ah !  well,  I  can  talk  a  little  Englees.  Is  it  not  a 
beautiful  sight?    And,  Miladif    Is  she  not  superb?  " 

"  Most  superb,"  I  answered  quite  honestly.  "  I 
never  yet  saw  so  beautiful  a  person,  or  one  so  beauti- 
fully dressed." 

"Ah!  la!  la!  But,  my  charming  gentleman,  a 
double  compliment !    The  first  to  her,  the  next  to  me ! 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  31 

The  first  I  shall  give  her.  The  ozer  I  will  keep  for 
my  own  pauvre  self." 

And  she  began  chatting  away  to  me  most  agree- 
ably. 

Men  are  often  laughed  at  for  befooling  them- 
selves with  women.  I  think  women  befool  them- 
selves just  as  much  with  men.  If  women  see  through 
men,  so  do  men  through  women  unless  their  own 
vanity  or  lust  blinds  them.  I  did  not  talk  ten  min- 
utes with  that  Frenchwoman.  She  said  nothing  to 
me  which  a  pure-minded  person  might  not  have  said, 
and  all,  too,  with  a  grace  and  sprightliness  which 
was  as  irreproachable  as  it  was  engaging.  Yet  I  felt 
she  was  bad,  wanton,  false,  though  I  could  not  tell 
why.  Perhaps  Warcop's  tone  had  prejudiced  me 
against  her.  No — I  believe  that  without  Warcop's 
leading  I  should  have  found  it  out  for  myself. 

However  Warcop  came  back,  and  stood  beside 
me  silent  for  some  minutes. 

'^  Oil  est  done  Milord,  vieux  houle-dogiief  ^^ 

"  I  don't  understand  your  lingo;  but  I  do  under- 
stand you  call  me  a  bulldog,  Mamzell.  And  the 
bulldog  will  be  even  with  you." 

^'  Va,  vietix  fat/' — and  she  added  a  few  more  epi- 
thets, laughing  in  the  prettiest  way  the  whole  time, 
and  then  rustled  off  into  the  next  archway. 

Warcop  looked  round  quietly. 

"  You'd  better  go  up  to  your  room  soon,  sir." 

''  I  will." 

"  Only — I  say — don't  be  hard  on  t'  poor  lad." 

"  I  won't,  trust  me." 


32  iTHE  TUTOR'S  STORY, 

And  I  went  away  not  knowing  what  he  meant. 

I  soon  knew.  I  had  not  been  back  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  before  there  was  a  scuffle  in  the  passage  out- 
side the  door.  I  was  in  the  bedroom,  unpacking  my 
portmanteau,  and  stayed  there,  uncertain  what  to 
do  and  not  a  little  nervous  at  the  prospect  of  my  first 
introduction  to  my  pupil. 

The  sitting-room  door  was  burst  open,  and  the 
scuffling  increased.  Two  voices,  both  thick  with 
wine,  were  muttering  and  arguing. 

"  Now  don't,  my  lord — pray  don't — and  go  to 
bed  quietly." 

"  Let  me  alone,  Will — I  must  see  the  beggar,  I 
say.  Hullo!  Mr.  Tutor.  Where  are  you?  Let's 
have  a  look  at  you  !  " 

I  came  out  instantly,  and  met  in  the  doorway  the 
most  beautiful  boy  of  seventeen  I  ever  had  seen,  or 
ever,  I  believe,  shall  see,  looking  all  the  more  beau- 
tiful from  being  dressed  in  that  most  becoming  of 
garments,  a  red  coat.  The  likeness  to  a  well-known 
hero  of  my  studies  struck  me  so  instantly  and 
strongly  that  I  found  myself  saying  under  my 
breath  "Alcibiades !  "  The  flushed  cheeks,  the  stag- 
gering steps,  all  added  to  the  likeness;  combined  as 
they  were  with  an  air  of  habitual  command,  and  the 
half-lazy,  half-saucy  lift  of  the  head. — A  new  Alci- 
biades,  breaking  in  upon — certainly  no  Socrates! 
God  help  me !  if  this  was  the  young  creature  I  had  to 
tame,  who  was  I  indeed  to  tame  him? 

Yet  I  loved  him  at  first  sight,  and  instinctively, 
dear  boy.  He  knows,  and  Heaven  knows,  that  I  have 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  33 

never  ceased  to  love  him.  Perhaps,  as  contraries 
are  always  attracted  by  contraries,  I  loved  him  from 
his  utter  and  complete  contrast  to  myself.  Whether 
it  were  so  or  not,  he  was  aware  of  the  contrast  as 
quickly  as  I.  He  stared  at  me  for  a  moment,  trying 
to  look  sober,  and  then  cried — 

"Hey!  A  poor  little" — I  will  not  repeat  the 
words  he  used — ''  And  a  lame  leg,  too,  by  Jove !  I 
don't  think  he'll  give  me  much  trouble,  William !  " 

My  face  burnt  red;  but  I  tried  to  laugh — 

*'  I  think,  my  lord,  you  had  better  go  to  bed." 

No,  he  wouldn't  go  to  bed.  He  wanted  more 
champagne.  He  would  this;  he  would  that.  And 
then  he  began  singing  verses  of  little  French  songs. 
And  so  on  and  so  on,  for  nearly  half  an  hour,  while 
the  footman,  I  saw  to  my  surprise,  had  slipped  away 
and  left  me  to  manage  the  boy  alone. 

And  I  did  manage  him.  By  wheedling,  humour- 
ing, laughing  and  joking,  though  with  a  heavy 
heart.  I  undressed  him  and  put  him  into  bed.  There 
he  murmured  snatches  of  song,  called  two  or  three 
times  for  Fedore — the  name  of  the  French  lady's- 
maid  as  I  remembered — and  finally  fell,  to  my  inex- 
pressible relief,  into  a  heavy  sleep. 

I  sat  by  him  watching  the  beautiful  face,  all  pale 
and  fallen  now,  when  I  heard  the  door  open  lightly 
and  Mademoiselle's  head  looked  in. 

She  gave  a  little  start,  I  thought,  at  seeing  me; 
but  spoke  in  her  sweetest  tone. 

"Ah !  bon.  Monsieur  is  with  him.  That  Is  kind. 
And  Milord  sleeps?" 


34  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

^'  Yes,"  said  I,  laying  my  finger  on  my  lips. 

She  did  not  seem  inclined  to  go.  I  verily  believe 
she  was  going  to  try  to  chatter  to  me;  but,  at  that 
moment,  heavy  footsteps  sounded  along  the  passage, 
whereupon  she  vanished  instantly. 

It  was  William  the  footman.  In  he  came  with  a 
drunken  leer,  an  unopened  champagne  bottle,  and 
three  or  four  glasses;  clutched  together  in  his  shak- 
ing hand. 

"  I've  got  it,"  he  whispered  with  an  oath.  "  And 
we'll  make  a  night  of  it,  we  will." 

I  rose  instantly,  and  whispered  in  my  turn. 

"  If  you  don't  get  out  this  moment,  you  drunken 
scoundrel,  I'll  break  that  bottle  over  your  head, 
and  kick  you  downstairs  afterwards  " — and  I  looked 
him  fiercely  in  the  face. 

It  was  a  vain  threat;  for  the  fellow  was  six  foot 
high  and  as  heavy  again  as  I.  But  I  suppose  my  eye 
quelled  him,  for  he  turned  and,  grumbling,  sneaked 
out  like  a  beaten  cur. 

I  locked  the  door  after  him  and  sat  down  again 
to  watch  that  fine  pale  face,  tired  out  in  body  and 
mind,  trying  to  think,  and  trying,  too,  to  pray.  But 
a  feeling  akin  to  despair  had  come  over  me.  What 
a  beginning  to  my  work !  And  into  what  a  chaos  was 
I  thrown — I,  the  mere  scholar!  Happily  for  me, 
overcome  by  bodily  fatigue,  I  soon  fell  fast  asleep 
in  my  chair. 

I  was  wakened  by  the  roll  of  many  wheels.  The 
guests  were  departing.    It  was  broad  day. 

The  boy  slept  still,  heavily,  quietly.    I  might  well 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  35 

leave  him  for  an  hour  or  so.  I  went  off  to  find  cold 
water,  and  drank  and  bathed,  till  both  body  and  mind 
were  somewhat  cooled  and  refreshed  after  the  long 
day  and  strange  night's  work. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

That  duty  performed,  I  dressed,  and,  as  I  dressed, 
looked  out  of  the  window  to  see  where  I  was. 

If  my  imagination  had  been  stirred  the  night  be- 
fore, it  was  stirred  still  more  this  morning. 

My  room  was  in  the  north-western  block  of  the 
enormous  Elizabethan  building,  compared  to  which 
all  houses  which  I  had  yet  seen — and  I  have  seen 
a  few  larger  since — seemed  as  cottages.  The  house 
appeared,  at  the  first  glance,  to  rise  sheer  out  of  a 
desolate  wilderness;  but  the  pleasant  sound  of  a 
mower^s  scythe  below  made  me  look  down,  and  I  saw 
that  between  me  and  the  forest  was  a  lawn  of  some 
twenty  yards  broad,  broken  by  beds  of  rhododen- 
drons and  azaleas,  now  in  their  full  glory  of  pink 
and  lilac,  flame  colour  and  yellow.  Beyond  them, 
knots  of  cultivated  heath  harmonised  with  the  wild 
heath  outside;  and  young  pines,  of  all  the  kinds 
which  are  now  common  in  English  parks,  prepared 
the  eye  for  the  ancient  Scotch  firs  beyond  the  wire 
fence.    But  how  can  I  describe  these ! 

My  notion  of  a  Scotch  fir  had  been  taken  from  the 
tall  umbrellas  which  one  saw  in  artists'  paintings. 
But  these  were  varied  in  shape  as  they  were  gigantic 
in  size.  Some  domed,  others  throwing  broken 
plumed  crests  against  the  sky,  the  boles  of  them  pur- 
ple,   the    trunks    and  branches   glistening  red   and 

36 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  37 

orange,  no  two  alike,  yet  combining  to  form  a  nobly- 
harmonious  whole.  As  I  stood  in  the  second  floor 
window,  nearly  on  a  level  with  their  heads,  I  seemed 
to  look  along  a  black  alp  range. 

An  avenue  of  them,  evidently  the  dark  cathedral 
aisle  I  had  come  through  last  night,  stretched  from 
the  centre  of  the  north  front  and  straight  away 
across  the  moor.  This  without  hiding  the  distance, 
for  right  and  left  my  eye  carried  forward,  through 
gaps  and  vistas,  over  a  brown  heather  sea,  rolling 
higher  and  higher,  as  it  grew  more  distant,  till  it 
ended  in  a  long  purple  bar  against  the  fair  blue  of 
the  northern  horizon.  And  on  all,  the  newly  risen 
sun  poured  floods  of  light — over  dewy  heather 
slopes,  between  the  ruddy  fir  stems,  upon  vivid  green 
glades  of  newly-sprung  bracken  and  the  swinging 
horns  of  lazy  deer. 

I  turned  at  last,  and  went  to  the  western  window. 
What  a  contrast  was  below  me ! 

The  moor  broke  into  glens,  and  swept  down  to  the 
south,  its  upper  knolls  crowned  with  huge  oaks  and 
beeches,  and  at  their  feet,  sheltered  from  every  wind, 
a  paradise  of  art.  I  could  see  walks  winding  around 
well-kept  shrubberies,  fountains  flinging  rainbow- 
tinted  columns  of  delicate  spray,  marble  white-paved 
pools  gleaming  amidst  dark  laurel  banks;  and, 
nearer  to  the  house,  terraces  filled  with  flower  beds 
of  every  quaint  shape  and  lovely  hue  which  vied  with 
the  fantastic  patterns  of  some  Indian  shawl  or 
changeful  plumage  of  some  tropic  bird.  On  every 
side  was  the   same   gradual,  yet  startling,   change 


38  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

from  the  savage  grandeur  of  Nature  to  the  brill- 
iance, grace,  homelike  comfort,  of  Art.  A  master's 
hand,  I  thought,  must  surely  have  been  here — or 
probably  that  of  master  after  master;  for,  as  I 
recollected,  it  had  taken  three  hundred  years  of 
wealth  and  thought  to  make  that  glorious  place 
what  I  now  saw  it. 

Leaving  my  room,  and  descending  the  winding 
stone  stairs — down  which  Warcop  had  piloted  me 
last  night — to  the  ground  level,  I  found  a  narrow 
doorway  and  iron-studded  oak  door, — the  latter  hap- 
pily unlocked — which  gave  access  to  the  terrace  im- 
mediately below  my  windows. 

The  neatness  and  finish  of  the  garden  was  miracu- 
lous; and  I  saw  at  once  that  it  was  attained  by  a 
lavish  expenditure  of  labour,  for  I  passed  at  least 
half  a  dozen  men,  busily  at  work,  in  the  small  part 
of  the  grounds  which  I  traversed. 

Passing  from  the  terrace  and  following  one  of  the 
many  gravel  paths,  I  came  at  last  to  a  semicircular 
stone  bench  set  against  a  high  screen  of  clipped  yew. 
Before  it  stretched  a  long  rectangular  lawn  of  velvet 
turf,  now  beaded  with  dew,  which  from  its  shape  I 
took  to  be  a  bowling-green.  The  air  was  full  of 
the  song  of  birds,  while  the  sound  of  the  morning 
breeze  in  the  great  fir  avenue  reached  me,  at  mo- 
ments, in  a  delicate  long  drawn  whisper.  I  stood 
listening,  charmed  by  the  poetic  beauty  of  my  sur- 
roundings, when  I  was  startled  by  a  harsh  voice 
close  at  my  ear. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  39 

^'  And  wha'  will  you  be,  young  man,  here  in  her 
ladyship's  private  grounds?  " 

I  turned  and  saw  a  tall  bony  figure,  clothed  in 
seedy  black.  The  man  looked,  at  the  first  sight,  not 
unlike  a  Dissenting  preacher:  but  hobnailed  boots, 
a  pruning  knife  in  his  hand,  and  strings  of  bass  mat 
round  his  neck  proclaimed  him  the  Scotch  gardener. 

*'  I  am  Lord  Hartover's  new  tutor,  arrived  last 
night.  I  hope  I  am  not  trespassing.  But  I  thought 
there  could  be  no  chance  of  meeting  anyone  at  this 
hour;  and  really  the  place  looked  so  beautiful  from 
my  window,  that  I  could  no  more  keep  out  of  it  than 
Milton's  Satan  out  of  Paradise." 

''  Satan  out  o'  Pawradise?  A  very  apt  quotation," 
— and  he  made  me  a  profound  bow.  "  Say  no  more, 
sir,  you're  as  welcome  as  would  be  my  young  lord 
himself  did  he  care  to  tak'  note  o'  these  goodly  em- 
bellishments o'  his  ain  and  his  ancestors'  property. 
And  ye'U  be  a  thoughtful  young  man,  too,  and  saw- 
ber  by  your  early  rising,  which  is  a  hailsome  habit — 
and  I  wad  some  a'  they  inside  there  had  found  out 
the  same — dancing  a'  the  night,  and  snoring  a'  the 
morning  which  God  created  for  man  to  breathe  the 
freshest  of  His  air,  and  see  the  bonniest  colours  o' 
His  warks.     Ye'U  be  a  scholar  too,  I  suppose?" 

"  A  little  of  one.    I  am  fresh  from  college." 

"Ah — ah — that's  well.  Ye're  doubly  welcome, 
into  this  land  o'  barbarians.  My  Latin's  got  clean 
rusted  amang  them,  being  denied  the  godsend  o'  an 
hour's  rawtional  conversation  for  nine  month  and 
mair,  not  having  been  able  to  accept  my  friend  Sir 


40  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

William  Hooker's  invitation  to  visit  him  at  Kew, 
anent  the  seeds  of  Pinus  Macoskinianus,  which  my 
aunt's  husband's  second  son — and  a  vary  rising 
young  botanist  he  is — sent  me  fra  the  mountains  o' 
little  Thibet.  Ye'll  ken  where  little  Thibet  is,  I 
suppose?  " 

I  bowed,  and  he  went  on  with  his  sing-song. 

"  And  this  Pinus  Macoskinianus — being  named 
in  honour  of  your  humble  servant — is  to  cut  out,  I 
hold,  Douglasii  and  a'  the  darker  leaved  forms, 
sir.  Douglasii  can't  hold  a  candle  to  it  for 
beauty  of  foliage — ye'll  just  come  up  wi'  me  and 
judge." 

I  walked  with  him,  asking  him  many  questions; 
and  found  him,  under  all  his  conceit  and  garrulity, 
a  shrewd  right-minded  man,  and  respectable  in  my 
eyes  for  this  one  thing  at  least — that  having  one  work 
to  do,  he  did  it  thoroughly. 

Suddenly,  at  some  observation  I  made  about  a 
pool  being  a  bath  for  Diana's  self,  he  stopped. 

"  Ah !  That  minds  me.  Ye'll  have  heard  of  the 
gardens  o'  Maecenas?  " 

Of  course  I  had. 

"  An'  ye  know  the  book  which  describes  the 
same?  " 

I  did. 

"  Then,"  cried  he  In  rapture,  "  ye're  the  lad  for 
me.  I've  been  thinking  o'  they  gardens,  ay  dreamin' 
o'  them,  till  I  swear  I  saw  them  by  inspiration;  but 
never  could  I  hear  o'  the  book  which  described  them 
— malr's  the  pity.     For  ye  see  " — and  he  waved  his 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  41 

hand  round — "  it's  a'  pretty  enough  here,  but  gothi- 
cal  and  barbarical.  I'm  certain,  the  more  to  my  sor- 
row, that  it's  no  convenable  to  the  true  rules  of 
classic  art.  See,"  he  cried,  striking  out  one  hand 
oratorically,  "  see  the  situation,  the  soil,  the  climate. 
Nature  has  done  her  part.  Art  and  man  alone  are 
to  blamit.  I  ha'  a'  the  materials.  I  ha'  a'  the  sci- 
ence. Gi'  me  but  the  classic  model,  as  I've  told  my 
lord  again  and  again,  an'  a  poor  five  hundred  pounds, 
and  I'll  make  his  garden  the  wonder  of  England 
and  go  down  to  posterity  myself  as  another  and  a 
greater  Capability  Brown." 

I  was  much  inclined  to  laugh :  but  the  tone  of  his 
voice  showed  me  that  he  was  too  really  in  earnest 
to  deserve  laughter.  So  I  calmed  him  by  telling  him 
that  what  little  classical  knowledge  I  possessed 
should  be  always  at  his  service. 

One  thing  he  said,  which  struck  me  much,  and  was 
the  parent  of  much  afterthought.  I  had  remarked 
to  him — 

''  You  seem  to  take  as  much  delight  In  this  garden 
as  if  it  was  your  own." 

"  And  why  not?  When  Adam  was  put  into  Eden 
to  dress  It  and  keep  it,  was  It  the  less  delightsome  to 
him  because  in  the  ultimate  he  kenned  it  belonged  to 
Almighty  God  alone  ?  " 

"  But  surely  you  are  denied  the  Incentive  to  work 
which  comes  from  the  sense  of  possession?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  a  carnal  superstition,  unworthy  o'  the 
true  artist  who  rejoices  in  the  wark  for  its  own  sake. 
And  what's  more,  he'd  be  just  a  fool  if  he  took  the 


42  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

land  for  his  ain;  for  how  would  he  carry  out  his 
wark  upon  it?  It's  just  the  aristocracy  which  enable 
him  to  do  it.  They  are,  so  to  say,  the  bankers  o'  the 
artist  and  find,  at  his  demand,  rough  material,  cap- 
ital, a'  that  he  wants  except  his  ain  brains.  Hoo-oo-o 
— when  I  was  a  bit  noisy  Radical  callant,  in  a  debat- 
ing society  in  Glasgow,  I'd  talk  roaring  words  enough 
about  the  cold  shade  o'  the  aristocracy.  But  when  I 
got  under  it,  I  found  it  just  a  very  warm  shelter, 
where  I  could  wark  and  study,  and  devote  myself 
purely  to  my  science,  wi'out  fretting  after  the  daily 
bread.  An'  not  I  only — but  see  here — I've  under  me 
twenty,  thirty  hands,  learning  their  trade  more  or 
less.  Whaur  would  they  be  but  for  the  aristocracy? 
What  would  this  garden  be  but  for  the  aristocracy? 
A  bit  turnip-field,  putting  into  the  people's  pocket 
thirty  shillings  an  acre  per  annum  for  labour.  It 
puts  now  nearer  three  hundred  pounds.  I've  three 
young  men  under  me,  rising  botanists,  that  will  be 
fit  in  seven  years  to  take  a  place  equal  to  mine.  What 
wad  they  ha'  been  doing  but  for  the  aristocracy? 
Earning  twelve  shillings  a  week  at  the  plough  tail, 
like  brute  beasts  that  have  no  understanding.  And 
in  their  old  age — see  again  there — there's  a  dizen 
auld  hirpling  bodies  weeding  and  sweeping,  sweep- 
ing and  weeding,  wi'  good  grey  duffle  to  their  backs. 
Whaur  wad  they  be  but  for  the  aristocracy?  In  the 
poorhouse.  Hoo-oo-o — I  suppose  ye're  a  Radical, 
being  fresh  fra  college.  I'll  mak'  a  Tory  o'  ye,  ere 
ye've  been  here  long." 

The   good  man  has  not  quite   succeeded,   I   am 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  43 

afraid,  in  making  a  Tory  of  me,  but  he  set  me 
thinking,  and  not  in  vain. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  "  it's  half-past  seven,  and  I 
must  gang  to  our  breakfast." 

"  I  wish  I  was  going  to  mine:  but  I  fear  there  is 
no  chance  of  that  for  some  hours  to  come." 

"  I'll  warrant  not  till  ten  o'  the  day,  especially  if 
that  skellian  William,  that  waits  upon  his  lordship, 
was  drunk  the  night." 

''  He  was." 

''  Ah — a — a !  Ye'U  no  find  him  o'  much  use  to  ye 
in  the  praucess  o'  his  lordship's  education!  " 

I  shook  my  head.  The  canny  Scot  said  no  more 
about  the  matter :  but  turning  suddenly, 

"  And  if  I  was  not  taking  too  great  a  liberty  with 
a  scholar  like  yourself,  If  ye  would  honour  our  hum- 
ble board  so  far  as  to  partake  of  a  cup  of  tea?  " 

I  accepted  the  offer  joyfully,  and  went  with  him, 
through  endless  grasserles  and  pineries,  to  a  delight- 
ful little  house — good  enough  for  any  person  in  Eng- 
land— all  covered  with  climbing  roses  and  lonlceras. 
I  hardly  know  which  was  more  pleasant,  the  flowers 
outside  or  the  savoury  breakfast  within. 

"  What  a  delightful  house,  and  what  a  delightful 
profession !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  simply  and  solemnly.  "  The  Lord 
has  cast  my  lines  in  pleasant  places." 

We  went  indoors  and  found  two  intelligent-look- 
ing young  men,  whom  he  introduced  to  me  as  his 
pupils,  a  buxom  Scotch  dame,  and  three  merry  chil- 
dren.   I  never  had  a  pleasanter  breakfast  in  my  life. 


44  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

I  played  with  the  children,  and  chatted  with  the 
two  young  men,  whom  I  found  sensible  and  well- 
educated  Scotchmen.  One  of  them,  when  he  learnt 
I  was  a  Cambridge  man,  wanted,  of  course,  to  en- 
gage me  In  a  profound  theological  discussion.  But 
I  escaped,  although  with  loss  of  honour,  by  confess- 
ing myself  utterly  ignorant  of  the  merits  of  certain 
fine  points  in  the  rulings  of  the  Synod  of  Dort. 


CHAPTER  V 

Breakfast  over,  I  hastened  back  to  my  charge,  and' 
found  him  still  asleep.  The  sun  was  high  in  heaven, 
and  my  box  of  books  arrived  and  was  unpacked,  be- 
fore I  heard  him  stir.  William  had  been  up,  looking 
sheepish  and  sulky,  without  deigning  to  ask  me 
whether  I  wanted  breakfast.  I  gave  him  no  orders. 
I  had  formed  my  own  plan  of  action.  At  last  I 
heard  the  dear  boy  stir,  and  I  went  in  to  him  in- 
stantly.— "  Did  he  want  anything?  " 

''  No,  he  had  an  abominable  headache." 

"  Then  take  a  seidlitz  powder." 

**  Well,  he  dared  say  it  would  be  the  best  thing." 

And  he  turned  over  and  slept  again. 

I  rang  the  bell  twice,  thrice;  and  after  a  long  in- 
terval William  reappeared. 

"  What  do  you  want?"  with  an  emphasis  on  the 
you,  which  was  hardly  not  insolent. 

"  A  seidlitz  powder  for  Lord  Hartover." 

He  did  not  know  where  to  get  any. 

"  Lord  Longmoor  has  a  medical  man  in  the  house, 
I  believe?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  go  to  him,  and  ask  him  for  one  from  me." 

He  had  no  business  with  the  doctor. 

I  walked  quietly  into  the  boy's  room.  Luckily  the 
conversation  had  awakened  him. 

45 


46  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"My  lord,  is  this  man  to  obey  me,  or  not?  I 
wish  him  to  get  you  a  seidlitz  powder  and  he  re- 
fuses." 

I  had  touched  the  right  chord,  but  somewhat  too 
sharply;  for  the  boy  burst  out  into  a  volley  of  bad 
words,  and  ordered  the  fellow  off  instantly. 

He  went.  But,  as  he  went,  said,  loud  enough  for 
us  to  hear — as  he  intended — "  Well,  I  didn't  think 
his  lordship  would  find  it  suit  his  book  to  quarrel 
with  me." 

So  the  boy  was  in  this  man's  power. 

"Now,  my  lord,  shall  I  help  you  to  get  up?  I 
shall  be  very  happy  to  act  valet,  till  you  get  a  better 
one." 

"  Confound  the  fellow,"  muttered  he  to  himself. 

Then  looked  suddenly  up  at  me,  and  said  some- 
what fiercely — 

"  So !  I  suppose  you'll  go  and  tell  my  father,  the 
first  thing,  that  I  was  screwed  last  night?  " 

"  By  no  means.  The  offence  was  not  committed 
under  my  jurisdiction.  I  did  not  begin  to  take  charge 
of  you  till  this  morning." 

"  So?  "  in  a  softened  tone.  "  Then  henceforward, 
I  suppose,  you  intend  to  keep  a  pretty  tight  hand 
on  me !  " 

I  smiled. 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  if  I  tried.  But  one  thing 
I  should  like  to  do." 

"What?" 

"  Teach  you  how  to  keep  a  tight  hand  on  your- 
self." 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  47 

He  laughed,  somewhat  bitterly,  and  then  hung 
down  his  head. 

*'  Here's  that  fellow  with  the  seidlitz. — Now, 
William — I  shall  get  up." 

As  I  did  not  know  where  his  clothes  were,  I  was 
forced  to  leave  him  to  William.  I  could  hear  them 
talking  away,  while  I  was  in  the  inner  room. 

Presently  he  came  In,  looking  as  neat  as  a  new  pin, 
and,  thanks  to  the  glorious  elasticity  of  youth  and 
health,  as  handsome  as  ever.  He  did  not  speak;  but 
sat  down  to  breakfast.    I  was  silent  also. 

*'  Well?  "  he  said  suddenly.  "  What  after  break- 
fast? Lessons,  I  suppose?  William  says  you've  a 
lot  of  Latin  and  Greek  books  there  all  ready  to  be- 
gin tormenting  me  with." 

"  Your  valet  cannot  possibly  know  what  I  intend 
to  do,  as  the  only  words  I  have  spoken  to  him  have 
been  to  bid  him  get  you  a  seidlitz  powder  this  morn- 
ing, and  to  threaten  to  kick  him  downstairs  last 
night." 

"  You  threatened  to  kick  him  downstairs?  "  asked 
he,  highly  amused. 

"  I  did  "—and  I  told  him  why. 

*'  Capital !  By  Jove,  but  you're  game — he's  twice 
as  big  as  you." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  I,  laughing;  "  and  I  could  not 
have  done  It;  but  I  am  bound  to  show  fight  to  anyone 
who  tries  to  lead  you,  my  dear  boy,  Into  harm,  and, 
so  help  me  God,  I  will." 

He  looked  up  fixedly  at  me. 

"  My  dear  boy?  It's  a  long  time  since  anyone  has 


48  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

called  me  that."  Suddenly  he  turned  scarlet.  "  I  say. 
Tell  me.  Is  it  true?  William  says  that  I  insulted 
you  last  night,  and  that  you  were  going  to  be  down 
upon  me  this  morning." 

"  William  is  an  ill-conditioned  fellow  for  telling 
you  what  it  was  only  and  solely  my  business  to  tell, 
if  it  was  to  be  told  at  all;  and  for  telling  lies  about 
my  intentions  afterwards.  I  had  forgotten  all  about 
it,  and  I  hoped  you  and  he  had  done  so,  too." 

"  But  tell  me— did  I  say " 

"  Never  mind  what  you  said,  for  I  shall  never 
mind.  Only — don't  put  yourself  again,  if  you  can 
help  it,  into  a  state  in  which  you  don't  know  friends 
from  foes." 

"  If  I  can  help  it!  "  he  cried  bitterly.  "Humph. 
Well,  I  suppose  you've  heard  lots  of  harm  of  me 
already?  " 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  of  you  which  I  intend  to 
recollect;  save  what  I  heard  from  old  Warcop  last 
night,  who  seems  to  be  a  good  man  and  true." 

"  And  that  he  is !  A  brick  if  ever  there  was  one. 
And  what  did  he  tell  you?  " 

"  Only  this,"  said  I  quietly,  but  determined  to  go 
to  the  root  of  things  at  once — "  that  you  had  no 
mother." 

He  looked  at  me  again  fixedly,  with  a  puzzled 
homeless  expression. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  last  fiercely.  *'  I  have  no  mother, 
and  worse  than  none.  My  father  is  managed  by  a 
set  of  canting  Methodists  who  hate  me,  and  will 
cheat  me  out  of  everything  they  can,  I  verily  believe, 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  49 

before  they're  done.  And  as  for  Her  Magnificence 
there,  as  we  call  her '' 

"  Stop !   you  shall  tell  me  nothing." 

"  But  you  ought  to  know,  if  you're  a  good  fellow 
— which  I  see  you  are,  I  see  already  there's  neither 
bite  nor  kick  in  you — and  you  shall " 

"  No.    You  will  not  tell  me  the  truth." 

^^What?" 

"You  will  try  to,  my  dear  lord,  I  don't  doubt: 
but  you  can't  help — no  man  can — mixing  up  a  little 
of  your  own  feelings  with  your  story.  Let  me  find 
out  the  truth  for  myself,  as  a  quiet  looker-on; 
and  if  I  can  be  of  use  I  will.  God  I  believe  has 
sent  me  here;  and  for  you  I  will  work,  depend 
upon  me." 

He  winced  at  the  last  words. 

*'  You  are  not  one  of  those  Methodists,  are  you?  " 

"  Certainly  not.    Why?" 

*'  Because  they  are  always  talking  about  God, 
and  God  sending  them.  I  wish  He'd  sent  them  any- 
where else." 

"  Well,  you  may  rest  assured  that  I  am  no  Metho- 
dist." 

"  Then  you  won't  mind  my  smoking?  " 

I  checked  a  smile — or  a  sigh — at  the  bathos,  and 
went  on — "  Smoke  ?    Why  not !  " 

And,  relieved,  he  got  himself  a  cigar,  and  then 
turned  again  to  me. 

"  But  if  you  are  no  Methodist,  why  do  you  say 
God  sent  you?  " 

*'  Because  I  believe  God  sends  everybody,  who  is 


50  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

not  going  about  a  bad  errand.  I  believe  He  has  sent 
you." 

He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  thought  me  mad. 

*'  Yes — to  be  a  great  nobleman,  and  master  of 
Hover  some  day,  to  make  hundreds  happy  and  pros- 
perous, and  set  a  fine  example  to  the  county  and  to 
all  England  maybe." 

He  stared  into  the  grate  and  smoked  on.  At 
last— 

*'  You're  a  strange  person.  No  one  ever  talked  to 
me  in  that  way  before." 

"  I  will  talk  to  you  as  often  as  you  like,  my  dear 
boy.  You  are  not  angry  with  me  for  calling  you  dear 
boy?" 

"  I? — Odd  if  I  were.  I  thought  no  one  on  earth 
cared  for  me  except  old  Warcop  and  Fe " 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  blushed. 

Was  he  going  to  name  Lady  Longmoor's  maid, 
the  French  Mademoiselle?  I  went  forward,  how- 
ever. 

"  Only — always  tell  me  if  I  bore  you  and  I  will 
stop.  There  is  no  use  talking  to  unwilling  ears;  and 
to  tell  the  truth  I  don't  think  that  your  brains  are  fit 
for  anything  very  deep  to-day." 

"  Well — no — how  close  this  room  is." 

He  threw  away  his  half-smoked  cigar. 

"  Let  us  walk  out.    Where  shall  we  go?  " 

*'  Why,  to  the  stables.,  But  do  you  care  for 
horses?  " 

*' No,  because  I  know  nothing  about  them;  but 
when  I  do  know,  I  suppose  I  shall  learn  to  care  about 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  51 

them  as  hundreds  of  cleverer  men  than  I  do.  Let  us 
go.  At  least  I  shall  have  a  chance  of  a  chat  with  Mr. 
Warcop." 

"  So  you  made  friends  with  him  last  night?  Ah — 
he  is  a  brick.  Only  he  is  so  strict  that  I  am  a  little 
afraid  of  him,  and  that's  the  truth." 

*'  I  daresay  if  he  was  not  strict,  he  could  not  get 
his  work  done." 

"  I  suppose  not.  And  a  better  servant  never  lived. 
I  wish  I  was  half  as  steady  as  he  is." 

So  we  went  down,  and  into  the  stables,  where  I 
was  introduced  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  into  the 
world  of  horses.  I  was  astonished  at  the  money  and 
the  care  which  seemed  lavished  on  lines  of  superb 
creatures,  each  of  which  had  its  peculiar  character, 
virtues,  faults,  mode  of  treatment — to  judge  at  least 
from  the  conversation  which  began  between  Warcop 
and  Lord  Hartover,  after  the  stud-groom  had  asked, 
slily  enough,  "  how  his  lordship's  coppers  felt  this 
morning." 

^*  Oh,"  I  answered  for  him,  "  he  was  in  bed  by 
three,  quite  early,  and  a  good  sleep  has  made  him  as 
lively  as  a  kitten." 

"  I  say,"  whispered  the  boy  to  me  presently, 
"  you're  a  good  sort.  Does  Warcop  know  I  was 
screwed?  " 

"  Honestly,  I  believe  he  does :  but  never 
mind " 

*'  No,  hang  it,  never  mind,  indeed.  It  isn't  the 
first  time  by  many  a  one  ! — I  say,  Warcop,  that  black 
horse  rests  his  leg  still." 


52  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  An'  will  rest  it,  my  lord.  I've  done  all  I  can, 
but  it's  never  been  itself  i'  the  fetlock  since  Colonel 
Jack  rode  him  from  Enderby  Gorse." 

"  Oh,  he'd  break  down  an  elephant,  if  he  had  a 
chance.  How  many  horses  did  he  spoil  last  season, 
Warcop?" 

"  Just  four,  let  alone  t'  harse  he  drowned  at  Saw- 
ley  Bridge  ford;  but  that  was  any  man's  luck,  and 
might  have  been  mine  or  yours." 

^'  By  the  by,  you  don't  know  the  Rusher — Colonel 
JackEsdaile?" 

"No." 

''  Oh,  you  must — such  a  splendid  fellow.  He's  my 
cousin.  In  the  Life  Guards  he  is,  and  rides  like  ten 
fiends.    There's  nothing  he  can't  do." 

Then,  interest  even  in  horse-flesh  slackening, 
thanks  to  the  indiscretion  of  last  night  and  conse- 
quent headache  of  this  morning,  he  proceeded  to 
change  both  place  and  subject  of  conversation.' 

''  Come  along.  I'll  show  you  the  house  if  you 
like." 

Of  course  I  liked.  And  we  walked  back  to  the 
house  together. 

"  There's  the  new  front  my  great-grandfather 
built.  Some  people  think  it  very  fine,  some  say  it 
don't  agree  with  the  rest.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know — 
or  care." 

And  he  yawned. 

Agree  with  the  rest  it  distinctly  does  not,  for  it 
consists  of  a  huge  Ionic  portico,  on  the  tympanum 
of  which  Victory  is  seen  busy  crowning  the  thirteenth 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  53 

Earl  of  Longmoor  for  his  valour  in  Marlborough's 
wars.  This  suits  ill  enough  with  the  mass  of  the 
house,  built  in  James  the  First's  time;  and  still  worse 
with  the  Tudor  chapel  on  the  right  and  the  old  Nor- 
man keep  which  towers  above  on  a  lofty  mound. 
But  to  my  mind  such  incongruities,  in  an  ancestral 
mansion  as  in  an  old  parish  church,  have  a  beauty 
and  meaning  of  their  own.  They  show  that  each  of 
many  generations  has  loved  the  place,  and  added  to 
It  as  best  they  could  In  token  of  such  love;  so  that, 
however  architecturally  faulty,  these  incongruities 
have  an  historic  value  of  unity,  of  progressive  devel- 
opment, and  of  life. 

I  said  something  about  all  this  to  Hartover.  Said 
how  pleasant  It  was  to  think  of  all  his  forefathers 
living  here  one  after  another,  and  leaving  their  mark 
upon  the  place.  The  idea  appeared  new  to  him, 
and  he  was  Interested  for  a  moment. 

Yes,  his  grandfather  had  made  the  pleasaunce  on 
the  left.  He  was  a  clever  man,  he  believed,  and 
fond  of  pictures  and  statues.  His  father — he  cared 
for  nothing  of  that  kind,  only  for  his  methodlstical 
books. 

'^  But  you  will  find  something  to  care  for,  and 
to  add  to  the  place." 

No.  He  never  should.  He  hated  the  place.  It 
was  so  dull.  He  should  go  and  live  In  London  and 
see  life.  He  hated  the  country,  dogs  and  horses, 
and  farming,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

*'  Why,  I  thought  you  seemed  very  learned  In 
horses?  " 


54  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"'  Oh,  one  can't  be  off  knowing  about  them  here. 
No  one  talks  of  anything  else."  But  he  detested 
hunting — getting  cold  and  hungry,  and  wet,  and  run- 
ning the  chance  of  breaking  your  neck  into  the  bar- 
gain. The  only  excitement  he  cared  for  was  play — 
that  cost  no  trouble.  "  And  I'll  have  plenty  of  it,  I 
tell  you,  when  I  am  my  own  master,"  he  added. 

Alas  for  me !  And  sadly  enough  I  went  with  him 
Into  the  great  entrance  hall. 

"  What  a  glorious  ceiling!  "  I  cried,  after  my  eye 
had  wandered  over  marble  pillars  and  stairs,  as  I 
looked  up  to  one  of  those  mythological  pageants,  In 
which  the  genius  of  Rubens  restored  to  temporary 
life  the  grandeur  of  the  dying  Venetian  School. 

Yes — everyone  admired  it.  He  cared  nothing  for 
It,  but  there  were  some  pretty  enough  goddesses 
among  the  figures — though  rather  too  stout  for  his 
taste. 

"  Why,"  I  said,  '^  there  Is  a  whole  Lemprlere's 
Classical  Dictionary  up  there.  You  might  learn  as 
much  mythology  from  It  In  a  day  as  from  books  In 
six  months." 

He  yawned  and  led  me  on.  But  I  did  not  forget 
my  own  words,  as  we  went  from  one  splendid  room 
to  another.  I  saw  everywhere  matter  of  Instruction, 
from  which  I  longed  to  teach  myself  a  thousand 
things.  Pictures,  statues,  curiosities,  "  objects  of 
bigotry  and  virtue  "  as  Mrs.  Malaprop  has  It,  of 
every  age.  To  know  all  that  was  In  that  house,  I 
thought,  would  be  to  know  the  whole  history  of  art, 
and  the  whole  history  of  England.    There  were  por- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  '^^ 

traits  of  gallant  men  and  fair  ladies,  in  every  dress 
from  Henry  the  Seventh's  time  onwards,  many  of 
them  personages  famous  in  their  day.  Armour  and 
weapons  hung  round  the  great  hall,  of  every  period 
from  the  Crusades.  At  last  the  boy  stopped  care- 
lessly before  a  gold-mounted  sword  in  a  glass  case, 
and  said — 

"  That  Is  the  sword  which  Charles  the  First  or 
Oliver  Cromwell — I  forget  which — gave  my  ances- 
tor after  some  great  battle  or  other." 

"  Ah,  Lord  Hartover,  why  do  you  not  learn  about 
all  these  things?  " 

*'  Why,  what  good  on  earth  would  it  do  me?  " 

"  It  would  teach  you  at  least,"  I  answered,  by 
some  happy  inspiration,  "  who  you  are." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

''  Consider  how  many  generations  of  great  men 
have  been  heaping  together  these  treasures  for  you. 
Surely  they  were  put  here  to  make  you  wiser,  and 
better  In  some  way.  As  tokens,  In  any  case,  that 
you  owe  your  ancestors  a  debt  for  all  they  have 
given  you,  a  debt  which  you  are  somehow  bound  to 
repay." 

''  Why,  they  are  all  dead  and  burled,  poor  old 
cocks.  They  had  their  fun  while  they  lived,  and 
never  thought  of  me.  I  shall  have  my  fun  while  I 
live,  and  never  think  of  them." 

*'  How  do  you  know  that  they  never  thought  of 
you?  I  daresay  they  looked  forward  to  the  honour 
and  prosperity  of  their  house,  ages  after  they  were 
gone,  and  perhaps  are  looking  forward  to  It  now." 


S^  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

''Now?" 

"  Yes,  how  can  you  tell  that  your  ancestors  are 
not  thinking  of  you  now,  interested  still  in  the  wel- 
fare of  their  family,  and  expecting  you  to  remember 
them,  to  be  worthy  of  them  ?  '* 

And  then,  moved  by  some  deep-seated  pity,  alike 
for  the  living  and  the  dead,  and  by  the  stately  beauty 
of  the  place — to  me,  unaccustomed  to  great  houses, 
a  veritable  Arabian  Nights  palace  of  delights — I 
went  on  to  speak  to  him  of  the  sacredness  of  family 
feeling  and  honest  pride  of  noble  blood.  I  told  him 
how,  among  the  old  Greeks  and  Romans — the  only 
people  of  whom  I  really  then  knew  aught — the  high- 
est virtues  were  called  forth  by  the  thought,  "  w^e 
must  not  be  less  worthy  than  our  forefathers — we 
must  live  lives  worthy  of  the  trophies  won  at  Mara- 
thon and  Salamis,  worthy  of  the  men  who  expelled 
the  Tarquins  and  fought  Lars  Porsena  at  the 
bridge."  And,  as  I  myself  kindled,  while  my  usual 
nervous  and  hesitating  manner  left  me  under  the 
influence  of  excitement,  I  looked  anxiously  into  his 
face  to  see  if  I  had  kindled  excitement  in  him  like- 
wise. 

"Gad!"  he  said,  after  standing  silent  awhile, 
"  how  fond  you  seem  of  those  old  Latin  and  Greek 
stories." 

"  Because  they  teach  me  so  much." 

"  Hm — Well,  I  never  thought  that  there  was  any- 
thing in  them  which  had  anything  to  do  with  me,  ex- 
cept to  get  me  floggings." 

"  I  wish  that  I  could  get  you  to  read  Plutarch's 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  57 

Lives  with  me.  You  would  find  plenty  there  which 
has  to  do  with  you,  and  me  and  every  man." 

"Are  they  Latin  or  Greek?" 

''  Greek." 

He  swore  at  Greek  in  general,  and  I  dropped  the 
subject. 

"  I  say — are  you  fond  of  books  ?  " 

"  Very," 

"  Come  into  the  library,  they  say  it  is  a  very  fine 
one." 

I  went.  And  at  the  first  glance,  I  felt,  I  cannot 
deny  it,  foolishly  inclined  to  impugn  the  justice  of 
Providence  which  puts  such  inestimable  treasures 
into  the  hands  of  those  w^ho  have  so  little  notion 
how  to  use  them.  Foolish,  indeed,  as  the  next  five 
minutes  proved.  For,  as  I  rapturously  repeated 
aloud  to  myself  the  name  of  one  rare  book  after 
another,  of  which  I  had  only  known  hitherto  by 
hearsay  or  quotation,  and  saw  hundreds  more,  of 
which  I  had  never  even  heard  but  which  promised 
by  their  titles  to  be  equally  precious,  the  boy  asked 
me,  yawning  and  smiling — 

"  So  you  are  frightfully  gone  on  books?  " 

"  They  are  my  world.  I  know  nothing  but  books ; 
yet  only  few  of  them." 

*'  Well,  you  can  read  all  here,  you  know?  " 

"  Is  it  possible?  And  yet,  I  am  afraid,  I  should 
soon  begin  neglecting  you  for  the  books." 

"Do  then!  You  have  my  leave."  And  he 
laughed.  "  You  sit  here  and  sap,  and  let  me  go  my 
own  way,  and  we  shall  never  quarrel." 


58  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

I  was  about  to  answer ;  but  he  ran  on — 

*'  I  say,  though — here's  a  capital  thought.  My 
father  shall  make  you  librarian.  The  old  librarian's 
dead  these  two  years.  He  was  some  old  fogy  at 
the  British  Museum.  He  never  came  near  the 
place,  and  so  no  one  has  really  looked  after  the 
books  for  years.  But  you  shall  be  librarian.  I'll 
talk  to  the  Rusher — Colonel  Jack,  I  mean — about 
it  to-day." 

"  And  I  am  to  sit  here  and  mind  the  books,  and 
leave  you  to  do  what  you  like  ?  " 

"  I  shall  do  what  I  like  in  any  case,  I  can  tell  you.'' 
And  he  looked  as  naughty  as  handsome. 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  my  only  chance  is,  to  make  you 
like  what  I  like." 

He  sat  down  in  an  easy-chair,  threw  his  legs  over 
the  arm,  and  began  whistling,  looking  fixedly  at  me. 
I  went  on  examining  the  books,  with  a  puzzled  head 
and  heavy  heart. 

"  I  say,  Mr.  Brownlow." 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

*'  I  think  the  sooner  we  come  to  an  understanding 
the  better." 

''  So  do  I."    And  I  tried  to  appear  cheerful. 

*'  I  suppose  you've  been  told  I'm  a  great  black- 
guard." 

"  Indeed  I  have  not." 

"  Then  you  soon  will  be.  Now  listen  to  me.  Peo- 
ple may  lead  me  but  drive  me  they  cannot.  I  have 
been  driven  all  my  life,  licked  and  kicked,  by  mas- 
ters and  boys  at  school,  and  tutors  at  home.     Old 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  59 

Dash  at  Harrow  took  special  pleasure  in  flogging 
me,  because  I  was  a  lord.  And  the  tutor  I  had  at 
home  used  to  cane  me  like  a  dog,  because  he  said  I 
was  a  vessel  of  wrath  and  a  child  of  the  devil;  and 
very  much  a  vessel  of  wrath  I  showed  myself  to  him 
when  I  did  turn  on  him  at  last.  Now  I  don't  think 
you  are  going  to  try  that  plan." 

I  smiled,  and  expressed  agreement  with  his  opin- 
ion. 

"  I  like  you.  I  liked  what  you  said  about  my  an- 
cestors; and  I'll  listen  to  you,  if  you'll  be  kind  to  me 
— Not  that  I  care  a  curse,"  he  went  on,  suddenly 
bridling  up,  "  for  your  kindness,  or  any  other  man's. 
I  want  no  man's  favours."  And  he  swore  again. 
^'  But,  but  " — and  he  was  silent  for  a  while. 

"  I've  often  thought,  that  if  I  had  a  friend,"  he 
said  presently,  "anyone  I  could  trust;  anyone  who 
would  make  allowances  for  me — I  have  one  though 
— but  she  can't  teach  me  as  you  might." 

"  You  want  to  learn,  then?  "  I  took  no  outward 
notice  of  the  "  she." 

"  Well.  If  there  was  anyone  who  I  thought  really 
wished  me  well,  I'd  listen  to  him  and  then  if  he  could 
show  me  that  learning  was  any  use  to  me " 

"  It's  not  merely  learning.  Lord  Hartover,  that 
will  make  the  man  or  the  nobleman.  There  is  such 
a  thing  as  self-control  wanted." 

"  I  know,"  he  said  impatiently,  *'  the  old  story. 
Everything  that  is  pleasant  is  wrong,  of  course." 

'*  God  forbid.  But  make  up  your  mind  what 
really  is  pleasant,  because  it  will  do  to  look  back 


6o  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

upon;  and  what  only  makes  you  miserable  next 
morning." 

*'  Easy  preaching!  Especially  about  things  a  man 
has  not  felt  himself.  This  drinking  now — I  know 
you  are  aiming  at  that — I  cannot  help  it.  I  crave 
for  it.  I  never  feel  well,  never  myself  without  it. 
It's  not  the  mere  taste  of  wine  I  care  for,  it  is  the 
wine  itself  I  want;  and,  abuse  me  as  you  may,  you 
can't  alter  plain  fact." 

I  was  puzzled.  I  had  not  yet  learned  to  analyse 
such  a  case.  I  saw  that  he  believed  his  own  words; 
but  I  concluded  that  he  must  be  mistaken,  that  idle- 
ness and  lack  of  interest  had  gradually  led  him  into 
the  vice. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  try  and  prevent  you  drinking 
wine,  if  you  really  need  it;  but  people  who  get  into 
a  habit  of  intoxication  die.  So  I  should  advise  you 
to  stop  short  of  that  point.  And  I  do  think  that  if 
you  could  find  a  little  occupation  and  entertainment 
for  your  mind  you  would  not  crave  so  much  for 
mere  animal  excitement." 

"What?  The  crooked  letters  again,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to  read  books.  Why  not  try 
and  learn,  as  I  hinted  just  now,  from  all  the  curious 
things  in  these  very  rooms?  Surely  it  would  interest 
you  to  know  what  you  were  looking  at  every  day; 
to  be  able  to  talk  to  others  rationally  about  them — 
to  know  the  history  of  your  own  house,  of  your  own 
family." 

"  I  suppose  it  would,  but  how  to  begin?  " 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  6i 

"  There  must  be  catalogues,  descriptions,  and  so 
forth  in  the  house/' 

Yes,  he  believed  there  were.  The  housekeeper 
knew.  She  showed  the  house.  Should  he  ring,  and 
send  to  ask  her? 

"  By  all  means."  I  thought  it  well  to  strike  while 
the  iron  was  hot.  A  footman  appeared,  had  his 
message;  and  in  due  time  returned,  reporting  that 
Mrs.  Caswell  was  very  sorry  but  it  was  as  much  as 
her  place  was  worth  to  let  her  catalogues  out  of  her 
own  hands. 

I  must  do  her  the  justice  to  say  the  fellow,  as  I 
discovered  afterwards,  had  informed  her,  that  he 
was  *'  sure  the  catalogue  was  wanted  for  that  new 
tutor  chap;  for  his  lordship  never  cared  for  such 
things."  Thereupon  Mrs.  Caswell,  considering  me 
as  an  Intruder  upon  her  office,  refused  with  indigna- 
tion. 

The  boy  swore  a  little,  yawned  again,  and  then 
asked  me  if  I  played  billiards. 

"No:  but  I  would  gladly  learn."  I  was  deter- 
mined, as  I  could  not  lead  him,  to  follow  him  every- 
where. For  Lord  Hartover's  beauty,  his  simplicity 
beneath  that  artificial  crust  of  profligacy,  had 
touched  my  heart  no  less  than  the  grandeur  of  his 
position  and  the  necessity  of  saving  him,  for  the 
sake  of  others  as  well  as  himself.  I  had  found  my 
vocation;  and  would  follow  it.  I  would  become  all 
things  to  him.  If  I  failed,  I  should  at  least  have 
done  my  duty. 

So  I  took  my  first  lesson  in  billiards.    The  boy 


62  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

knew  the  game  well  enough ;  but  played  with  an  un- 
certain eye  and  shaky  hand.  I  made  no  comment, 
however,  but  let  him  instruct  me.  Ere  an  hour  was 
out  he  cried — 

"  Gad,  what  a  player  you'll  make !  Your  hand 
is  as  steady  as  a  rock." 

"  Isn't  that  an  additional  reason  for  drinking 
water?" 

He  was  much  amused  when  I  tried  to  explain  to 
him,  by  the  light  of  my  little  Cambridge  knowledge, 
the  science  of  the  game.  A  few  hints  about  impact 
and  angles  took  marvellously;  and  he  told  his 
cousin  Colonel  Jack,  "  the  Rusher " — whose  ac- 
quaintance I  had  the  honour,  or  otherwise,  of  mak- 
ing that  afternoon — that  "  I  was  a  wonderfully 
clever  fellow  but — the  oddest  thing  out — I  was  so 
jolly  with  it." 

I  played  with  him,  I  may  add,  every  day  after 
that  for  months;  and,  at  last  could  give  ten  to  any 
man  who  entered  the  house. 

At  two  o'clock,  luncheon,  or  rather  dinner,  was 
served  for  us  two;  and  so  ended  a  sufficiently  varied, 
perplexing  and,  in  more  than  one  respect,  unsatis- 
factory morning. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Love  is  said  to  be  blind.  That  may  be  true  of  pas- 
sion— about  which  I  know  little.  But  of  such  honest 
and  deep  affection  as,  even  from  the  first,  I  bore  my 
pupil  it  is,  thank  God,  not  true.  For,  far  from  shut- 
ting my  eyes,  it  opened  them,  giving  me  sight  and 
insight.  How  else  could  I,  unversed  in  the  ways  of 
the  world  and  unused  to  society,  have  so  soon  be- 
come aware  of  the  war  of  conflicting  wills  and  in- 
terests surrounding  me,  of  which  the  dear  boy,  whom 
I  loved,  was  at  once  the  cause  and  the  centre? 

I  had  read  of  court  intrigues  in  history.  Now  I 
was  to  learn  that  every  great  house  and  household, 
such  as  Hover,  is  a  court  in  miniature.  Upon  the 
surface  are  discipline,  deference,  and  ready  service, 
not  to  speak  of  adulation  and  all  too  ready  flattery. 
Beneath  the  surface,  too  frequently,  are  selfishness 
and  self-seeking,  disloyal  scheming,  even  rank 
treachery.  Often  have  I  been  tempted  to  agree  with 
Radical  Farmer  Braithwalte  and  condemn  great  no- 
blemen as  a  great  national  evil,  rather  than  with  my 
good  friend  the  Scotch  head-gardener,  who  found  in 
them  and  their  wealth  a  providentially  ordained 
ladder  up  which  poorer  and  cleverer  men  may  climb 
to  high  places  of  science  and  of  art. 

That  afternoon,  as  I  have  already  said,  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Colonel  Esdaile.    No  less  a  per- 

63 


64  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

son  than  Mr.  Marsigll,  the  grave  and  courtly  Italian 
butler,  brought  word  her  ladyship  proposed  to  visit 
me — hearing  which  the  boy,  who  sat  smoking  in  the 
window,  jumped  up  with  an  oath  and  bolted.  Why 
Her  Magnificence  should  trouble  herself  to  seek  me, 
rather  than  summon  me  to  her  presence,  passed  my 
comprehension.  Such  however  being  her  royal  will 
and  pleasure,  I  prepared — though  not  without  in- 
ward trepidation — to  receive  her  with  the  best  wel- 
come I  might.  A  sound  of  voices  and  laughter  pre- 
ceded her  advent,  testifying  that  she  did  not  come 
unescorted. 

If  I  had  thought  Lady  Longmoor  beautiful  when 
looking  down  upon  the  ballroom  from  the  gallery 
last  night,  I  thought  her  ten  times  more  so  on  be- 
holding her  in  the  more  homely  setting  of  my  study. 
She  was  very  tall,  and,  though  over  thirty,  still  pos- 
sessed a  girlish  slenderness  of  figure.  Her  features 
were  finely  chiselled,  her  colouring  at  once  vivid  and 
delicate;  while  the  contrast  between  dark  eyes  and 
eyebrows  and  her  magnificent  fair  hair  gave  a  pecul- 
iar character  to  her  face.  Her  manner  struck  me 
as  playful  and  vivacious,  though  capable  of  chang- 
ing, in  a  moment  and  at  will,  to  icy  hauteur.  To  this 
last,  it  is  only  just  to  add,  she  never  treated  me  even 
when  differences  unhappily  arose  between  us.  For 
her  ladyship  chose  to  gain  her  ends  rather  by  the 
power  of  her  charm  than  by  the  authority  of  her 
rank. 

Her  companion,  Colonel  Jack,  enjoyed  the  repu- 
tation, as  I  learned  later,  of  being  both  one  of  the 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  65 

handsomest  and  one  of  the  best  dressed  men  about 
town.  He  might  certainly  also  claim  to  be  one  of 
the  largest;  though,  so  excellent  were  his  propor- 
tions, that  it  was  only  when  standing  beside  him  I 
measured  the  greatness  of  his  height  and  bulk.  All 
the  same,  so  my  pupil  informed  me,  '*  the  Rusher  was 
as  hard  as  nails  and  didn't  carry  an  ounce  of  super- 
fluous flesh."  Looking  at  these  two  persons,  now,  I 
felt  abashed;  though  less  by  their  self-assurance  and 
air  of  fashion  than  by  their  abounding  vitality.  How 
many  generations,  not  only  of  good  breeding,  but 
of  good  food  and  good  drink,  must  have  gone  to 
make  them  what  they  were  ! 

Her  ladyship  was  all  graciousness.  Must  shake 
me  by  the  hand  and,  sitting  down  In  the  nearest  chair, 
put  me  through  a  catechism  as  to  my  comfort.  Had 
I  all  I  needed?  Were  the  servants  attentive?  I 
understood  everything  was  at  my  disposition.  I  had 
but  to  give  my  orders,  to  ask.  Colonel  Jack  mean- 
while, standing  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace,  one 
heel  resting  on  the  fender,  looked  on,  a  quizzical 
expression  upon  his  face.  He  wore,  I  remember,  a 
high-walsted  nut-brown  riding  coat,  buff  cord 
breeches  and  top  boots;  and  held  a  half-smoked 
cigar  between  the  first  and  second  fingers  of  his  left 
hand.  Observing  his  fine  devil-may-care  manner  and 
superb  physique,  I  could  not  but  fear  he  must  offer 
a  somewhat  dangerous  contrast  to  my  lady's  vale- 
tudinarian husband,  a  malade  imaginaire!  many 
years  her  senior,  given  over  to  doctors  and  to  snivel- 
ling pietists. 


M  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

She  began  to  talk  about  the  boy  and  his  course  of 
study. 

*'  Oh !  he  ought  to  learn  Latin  and  Greek — and — 
French — modern  languages  you  know — ought  he 
not,  John?    What  do  you  think?  " 

*'  Decidedly.  Latin,  Greek,  French,  Italian,  Ger- 
man, the  four  rules  of  arithmetic — geography  and 
the  use  of  the  globes — celestial  as  well  as  terrestrial 
— the  former  should  be  of  special  use  " — and  he 
laughed,  looking  my  lady  meaningly  in  the  face — 
"Shakespeare,  taste  and  the  musical  glasses,  of 
course.  And  you'll  be  careful,  no  doubt,  to  instil 
principles  of  youthful  piety,  and  teach  the  young  idea 
generally  how  to  shoot — you  understand  all  this,  of 
course,  sir." 

"  Perfectly,"  quoth  I,  meaning  thereby  to  let  the 
colonel  know  that  I  saw  he  was  laughing  at  me  and 
that  I  did  not  intend  to  be  laughed  at. 

"  And — ah — I  think  instead  of  beating  about  the 
bush,  sir,  it  might  be  advisable  for  us  to  come  to  a 
clear  understanding." 

"  I  am  of  that  opinion  also " 

"  Very  well,  then — entre  nous  his  young  lordship  is 
a  bit  of  a  scamp.  And — on  the  whole — if  you  can 
find  any  method  of  making  him  a  little  less  trouble- 
some we  shall  esteem  it — I  think  I  may  say  so  much 
in  your  ladyship's  name?  " 

"Good  heavens,  yes!" 

"  A  kindness  on  your  part.  For  the  rest,  as  to  the 
general  direction  of  Lord  Hartover's  studies,  we  are 
prepared  to  defer  to  your  superior  judgment." 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  67 

"  Oh !  yes,  certainly  " — this  from  Lady  Long- 
moor.  "  I  am  sure  we  may  trust  you.  Doctor  Mars- 
ton  gave  us  such  satisfactory  credentials — wrote 
quite  delightfully  about  you,  Mr.  Brownlow,  in 
fact " 

I  bowed,  and  smiling  she  rose  to  depart.  The 
interview  was  evidently  concluded;  but,  not  choos- 
ing to  accept  the  colonel — whatever  his  relation  to 
affairs — as  sole  male  representative  of  my  pupil's 
family,  I  ventured — 

"  But  may  I  ask — am  I  not  to  see  Lord  Long- 
moor  himself?  " 

*'0h!  dear,  yes — no — of  course.  What  do  you 
think,  John?  He  is  so  much  engaged  to-day,  and  is 
not  altogether  well  I  regret  to  say.  We  are  glad, 
you  know,  to  spare  him  any  unnecessary  exertion." 

^'  And  Mr.  Halldane,  I  believe,  Is  reading  to  him 
at  present;  so" — again  looking  meaningly  at  her 
ladyship — ''  he  is  possibly  better  employed  than  in 
giving  an  audience  to  Mr.  Brownlow.  No,  I  think 
on  the  whole  It  might  be  well  to  wait  a  day  or  two." 

"  Strange  household,"  I  thought,  as  I  closed  the 
door  behind  them. 

Two  things  struck  me.  First  that  Her  Magnifi- 
cence possessed  real  good-nature — how  deep  It  was 
I  had  no  time  to  test;  and  next  that  the  all-powerful 
colonel  was  no  fool.  The  tone  in  which  he  addressed 
me,  once  I  had  brought  him  to  book,  so  different 
from  his  natural  rollicking  free  and  easy  manner, 
showed  he  had  wit  enough  to  wear  a  mask.  And, 
laughing  at  his  own  mask  all  the  while,  though  he 


68  THE  TUTOR^S  STORY 

put  it  on,  as  uneducated  men  of  all  ranks  will,  be- 
cause thinking  it  proper  to  do  so  before  scholars  or 
parsons,  half  expected  them  to  laugh  at  it  too — if 
they  were  good  fellows.  Whether  he  was  likely  to 
be  much  use  to  me  in  dealing  with  my  pupil  was  an- 
other question.  However,  I  apparently  had  formal 
carte  blanche  to  do  what  I  chose.  What  could  man 
want  more?  Much — as  I  eventually  and  not  un- 
sorrowfully  was  to  discover. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Meanwhile  my  heart  cried  out  for  sight  of  those 
same  catalogues;  and,  on  the  third  day,  I  determined 
to  brave  the  Honess  in  her  den  and  go  to  Mrs.  Cas- 
well myself. 

So,  backed  by  the  boy's  commands,  William, 
sneering  and  scarcely  waiting  to  hold  the  doors  from 
swinging  to  on  me,  showed  me  down  to  the  great 
woman.  There  she  sat,  in  a  far  more  richly  fur- 
nished room  than  my  father  had  ever  inhabited,  a 
portly  and  awful  personage,  in  a  black  satin  gown 
and  a  huge  gold  watch  and  chain,  with  wine  and 
cake  on  the  table  before  her. 

She  rose  a  very  little  from  her  seat  with  a  stiff 
bow,  motioned  me  to  a  chair,  and  inquired  to  what 
"  she  was  indebted  for  the  honour  of  this  visit?  " — 
clearly  implying  that  I,  not  she,  was  the  honoured 
party. 

I  answered  most  blandly,  that  I  had  taken  the  lib- 
erty to  come  and  ask  her  for  a  little  Information 
which  only  she  could  give. 

To  my  discomfiture,  she  broke  out  immediately  to 
the  effect  that — "  when  I  had  lived  longer  in  houses 
which  belonged  to  the  real  nobility,  I  should  be 
aware  that  the  curiosities  they  contained  were  con- 
sidered as  the  housekeeper's  perquisite.  That  no 
one  but  she  had  a  right  to  show  them,  or,  indeed,  to 

69 


70  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

know  anything  about  them,  for  what  concern  were 
they  of  anyone  but  herself?  " 

In  vain  I  explained,  apologised,  expostulated. 
The  great  woman  was  obdurate,  and  I  bowed  myself 
out,  unsuccessful  but  bland  as  I  had  entered. 

That  afternoon  it  rained.  I  got  Lord  Hartover 
to  visit  the  library,  between  two  games  of  billiards, 
and  from  a  list — which  happily  was  not  in  Mrs.  Cas- 
well's hands — found  out  two  or  three  books  on 
ancient  armour;  and  began,  to  the  boy's  surprise, 
making  a  catalogue  for  myself  of  the  weapons  in 
the  gallery.  He  laughed  at  me  at  first.  Then, 
growing  interested,  joined  me  after  a  while  in  verify- 
ing swords  and  helmets;  and,  when  we  came  to  a  real 
Crusader's  helmet,  allowed  me  to  tell  him  something 
about  the  Crusades,  and  began  to  speculate  which 
of  his  ancestors  had  worn  that  rusty  pot  under  a 
Syrian  sun.  Finally,  his  pride  being  aroused,  he 
got  at  his  pedigree,  a  copy  of  which  was  kept  in  the 
library — the  original  was  stored  away  In  a  mysteri- 
ous muniment-room — and  we  settled  which  earl  the 
Crusader  must  have  been;  and  so,  pleasantly  enough, 
kept  clear  of  French  novels  and  other  ques- 
tionable entertainments  for  the  remainder  of  the 
afternoon. 

From  that  day  I  began  to  have  hopes.  The 
armour  occupied  us  for  full  six  weeks,  and  gave  us  a 
good  deal  of  collateral  history  to  work  up.  I,  of 
course,  did  the  work,  and  told  him  as  much  thereof 
as  I  thought  would  Interest  him,  and  began  to  look 
forward  to  the  time  when  I  should  teach  him  a  little 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  71 

live  ancient  history  from  the  statues  and  pictures. 
But  ere  the  six  weeks  were  out,  my  new  method  of 
education  received  more  than  one  startling  check. 

That  very  evening,  for  example,  about  eight 
o'clock  he  threw  aside  his  books,  said  that  he  must 
go  to  the  drawing-room,  and  disappeared;  to  reap- 
pear at  long  past  midnight  a  good  deal  the  worse  for 
wine.  I  put  him  to  bed  without  reproof,  and  went 
to  my  own  room,  feeling,  with  Parson  Evans,  "  a 
great  disposition  to  cry." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  next  morning,  "  so  I  was  screwed 
again  last  night?  " 

I  shook  my  head  sadly  enough. 

*'  I  really  am  sorry  I  was,  if  it  gives  you  any 
pain." 

"  My  dear  lord,  what  else  can  it  do?  " 

I  let  the  matter  drop  for  the  time;  got  him  after 
breakfast  into  the  gallery,  and  kept  him  amused 
for  two  or  three  hours.  While  we  were  there  a  note 
came  from  the  earl — not  however  in  his  handwriting 
— to  the  effect  that  he  could  not  see  me  that  day,  but 
hoped  to  do  so  shortly.  Seemingly,  I  was  to  be  left 
on  all  sides  to  my  own  mother-wit. 

After  the  early  dinner,  the  boy  announced  he 
should  go  out  riding.  I  could  say  nothing  against 
it;  so  walked  down  to  the  stables,  and  saw  him  ride 
off,  In  a  bright  blue  coat,  white  breeches  and  top- 
boots,  looking  very  handsome,  with  a  groom  behind 
him. 

Old  Warcop  stood  watching  him  by  my  side.  I 
turned  to  him  for  Information  and  comfort.     He 


72  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

really  seemed  the  only  rational  person,  save  the 
Scotch  gardener,  in  the  establishment. 

'*  Is  he  fond  of  riding?  " 

Warcop  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  rd  thought  I'd  ha'  made  a  bonny  horseman  o' 
him  once:  but  o'  late  he's  no  nerve — darna  face  a 
hurdle,  worse  luck.  He'll  canter  along  the  road  for 
an  hour  on  a  park  hack  that's  no  better  than  an  easy 
chair  to  sit  on ;  but  for  hunting — I  sorely  doubt  he'll 
ever  mak'  a  man." 

"  Never  make  a  man?  " 

*'  He's  knocking  himself  to  pieces  ere  he's  grown, 
and  that's  truth.  And  I  say  It  to  ye,  for  ye'll  soon  see 
it  yourself.  He  was  up  late  last  night  again,  I 
guess." 

"  And  where  does  he  spend  his  evenings?  " 

*'  In  t'  servants'  hall.  Ye  see,  as  soon  as  the  other 
folks  are  happed  up,  out  goes  the  fiddle  there  and 
they  dance  till  their  shanks  ache,  most  nights,  and 
she  wi'  them;  and  after  that  there's  few  o'  t'  lads 
turn  in  sober.    God  help  us !  " 

*'  But  does  his  lordship  know?  " 

'*  And  what  signifies  what  he  kens?  Mony's  the 
night  she'll  come  down  hersel'  when  she's  nought  bet- 
ter to  do,  and  the  colonel  wi'  her,  and  dance  among 
'em  all  as  gay  as  the  gayest." 

**She?    Mademoiselle?" 

"  Na,  lad,  her  ladyship's  sel'." 

What  was  to  be  said? 

"  Is  he  fond  of  shooting?  "  I  asked,  wishing  to 
turn  the  conversation. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  73 

*'  Na — na  nerve  for  that  either.  I  tell  ye,  he's 
fond  o'  naethlng  fit  for  a  man.  I  can't  tell  what's 
come  over  him,  these  last  three  years.  It's  my  opin- 
ion he  cares  for  naught  but  those  lasses  in  the  work- 
room, where  he  sits  with  Mamzell  every  afternoon, 
and  makes  petticoats  for  aught  I  know." 

"  Makes  petticoats?  " 

*'  An'  what  else  should  he  do,  amang  the  needles 
and  thimbles?  " 

But  there  was  something  in  Warcop's  eye  which 
told  me  what  he  had  no  mind  to  speak. 

I  fell  into  a  reverie.  How  was  I  to  win  the  boy? 
By  identifying  myself  entirely  with  his  pleasures  and 
pursuits?  But  how,  while  they  were  such  as  these? 
At  least  I  must  do  what  I  could.  Oh !  that  I  could 
never  let  him  out  of  my  sight!  That  was  impos- 
sible. Still  I  must  do  what  I  could.  A  thought 
struck  me.  If  I  rode  with  him,  I  might  persuade 
him  to  spend  a  longer  time  In  the  open  air.  Keep 
him  away  from  the  afternoon  amusement  with  the 
maids;  perhaps  bring  him  home  healthily  tired,  to  go 
to  bed  at  a  reasonable  hour.  But  then,  I  could  not 
ride.    And  should  I  be  allowed  to  ride? 

I  told  Warcop  all  this  on  the  spot.  He  received 
It  graciously,  setting  his  head  on  one  side  like  a  ter- 
rier dog,  as  he  always  did  when  a  new  thought  struck 
him — 

"As  for  harses — dinnot  fash  yourself!  T' 
harses  are  mine,  and  I'll  see  ye  ha'  one  daily.  But 
then — ye  say  ye  cannot  ride." 

*'  I  never  was  upon  a  horse  In  my  life.'' 


74  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  Poor  lad!    An'  vv^here  were  ye  dropped,  then?  " 

I  comprehended  that  "  to  be  dropped  "  signified 
in  his  vocabulary  to  be  born  in  this  world,  and  might 
have  resented  the  unceremonious  inquiry  as  to  my 
birth  and  parentage  had  not  the  humorous  pity  in 
the  old  man's  face  set  me  off  laughing. 

"  Niver  across  a  harse  1  That's  sad  then  !  Well, 
well,  ye've  got  all  the  more  pleasure  to  come,  ye  see." 

"  I  will  give  you  ten  pounds  to  make  a  horseman 
of  me." 

He  looked  me  all  over  in  his  quaint  way,  and  then 
shook  his  head. 

"  Keep  yer  trap,  lad,  keep  yer  trap.  I'll  teach  ye, 
gin  ye've  sense  to  learn  and  are  no  fearful." 

"  As  for  fear — I  don't  see  why  I  should  be  afraid 
of  beasts  which  every  groom  can  manage.  As  for 
sense,  I  have  found  as  yet  I  could  learn  whatever 
I  took  the  trouble  to  learn." 

"  Bravely  spoken.  Come  wi'  me,  and  we'll  begin 
the  day. — Ned,  saddle  t'  owd  black  harse,  and  bring 
him  round  to  skeul." 

So  into  the  riding-school  I  went,  and  my  educa- 
tion began. 

As  I  expected,  my  lame  leg  gave  me  some  trouble, 
and  obliged  me  to  ride — I  do  so  still — with  one  stir- 
rup shorter  than  the  other.  But  by  dint  of  a  good 
will,  and  those  steady  nerves  which,  thanks  to  tem- 
perate living,  I  have  always  enjoyed  even  in  the  midst 
of  ill  health,  I  progressed  so  favourably  that  I 
elicited  Warcop's  praise. 

"  That's  well.     Haud  your  hand  down  and  yer 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  75 

shoulders  back,  and  ye'll  make  a  bonny  rider  yet. 
Noo  then,  we'll  try  the  bar  a  bit." 

"  The  bar?  "  quoth  I.  "  I  shall  be  chucked  over 
his  head." 

"And  what  matter  into  this  sawdust?  T'owd 
harse  Is  like  an  armchair,  I  tell  ye.  An'  mind  this — 
a  man  may  fa'  owre  his  harse's  head,  but  niver  owre 
his  harse's  tail — forbye  he  rears,  or  gets  his  hinders 
into  a  brook,  or  the  like.  So  lean  ye  back,  and  owre 
ye'll  go." 

I  had  my  doubts;  but  I  submitted,  amid  Warcop's 
eternal  "  Hands  down  !  Sit  back,  laddie  !  "  I  landed 
the  first  time  between  the  horse's  ears;  the  second 
time  on  his  withers;  and  the  third,  to  my  great  dis- 
comfort, on  the  pommel  of  the  saddle. 

*'  DInna  fash  yerself,  laddie,"  quoth  Warcop,  un- 
moved as  was  the  old  horse,  which  I  found  was  used 
as  a  training-horse  for  all  the  groom-boys.  "  Ye've 
been  a  foot  and  more  nearer  each  time,  ye  see.  Ye'll 
come  into  the  saddle  next  bout." 

And  so  I  did,  and  got  over  afterwards  decently 
enough. 

"  But,  I  feel  I  am  thrown  Into  the  air  each  time?  " 

*'  'Deed  an'  ye  are  not.  Not  a  three  Inch;  but  gin 
ye  leave  the  saddle  at  a',  ye  feel  that  ye're  going 
clean  aloft  a  regular  flee-by-sky — Ho,  ho,  ho !  But 
ye'll  come  o'  that !    Why,  here's  my  lord !  " 

Yes,  It  was  the  boy,  returned  already. 

"  Why,  I  didn't  know  you  were  a  rider." 

"  Neither  am  I- — I  never  was  on  a  horse  before." 

**  You  don't  mean  it.     But  you  ride  quite  well 


76  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

enough — I  wish  you'd  ride  with  me  of  a  day.  It  is 
so  abominably  stupid  dawdling  about  alone.  That's 
why  I  came  back." 

Needless  to  say  I  jumped  at  the  proposal;  and, 
very  soon,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  I  was  riding 
with  him  regularly  daily. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Oh  !  the  delight  of  those  rides !  The  new  sense  of 
power  and  freedom,  of  being  able  to  go  whither  I 
chose,  and  what  pace  I  chose;  the  exhilarating  mo- 
tion, the  exhilarating  air,  the  clearness  of  brain  and 
the  sharpness  of  appetite  such  as  I  had  never  felt 
before  in  my  life.  My  lungs  seemed,  henceforward, 
to  Inspire  fuller  breath;  my  blood  to  course  more 
lively  through  my  veins;  while  that  ancient  foe,  my 
liver,  disappeared  from  among  my  sensations,  and 
with  It  those  fearful  headaches  which  it  inflicted  on 
me  once  a  month.  Under  the  magic  Influence  of 
those  rides,  I  began  to  take  a  cheerfuller  view  of 
myself,  the  dear  boy,  and  of  all  earth  and  heaven. 
But  it  was  for  his  sake,  even  more  than  for  my 
own,  that  I  delighted  In  them.  For  now  I  began  to 
spend  a  large  part  of  my  long  lonely  evenings  in 
learning  the  geography,  history,  antiquities  of  the 
surrounding  country,  which  I  retailed  to  my  pupil 
when  we  were  out.  We  rode  to  old  castles  and 
manor-houses;  and  I  told  him  the  story  of  the  fami- 
lies to  which  they  belonged.  Along  river  banks, 
whose  course  I  pointed  out  to  him.  Past  old  Roman 
camps  and  Druid  pillars,  on  which  I  lectured  with 
such  small  knowledge  as  I  had,  and  was  well  re- 
warded by  his  assuring  me  that,  though  he  used  to 

77 


78  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

hate  his  rides  as  a  necessary  bore,  they  were  now 
the  pleasantest  part  of  the  day. 

But  greater  was  my  delight  when  I  found,  as  his 
bitterness  and  nonchalance  vanished  before  exercise 
and  amusement,  that  I  had  to  deal  with  a  mind  of 
{no  common  order.  Quick-witted,  argumentative, 
fanciful,  and  gifted;  and,  when  growing  interested 
he  forgot  his  slang,  with  that  exquisite  grace  of  ex- 
pression, which  so  many  men  and  women  afterwards 
admired — perhaps  too  much.  I  took  heart  and  hope 
as  I  found  I  was  setting  my  labour  on  no  barren  soil. 

I  could  not  help  having — as  young  men  will  and 
should  have — my  ambitions,  my  hope  of  such  suc- 
cess as  was  possible  to  a  crippled  student,  without 
worldly  position  or  worldly  wealth.  And  now,  was 
I  not  granted  unlooked-for  opportunity  of  success? 
For,  his  intelligence  proving  so  considerable,  the 
dream  came  over  me  that  I  might  train  my  pupil  to 
be  a  great  statesman,  one  whose  name  might  figure 
among  those  of  famous  political  leaders,  the  men 
who  carry  forward  and  consolidate  the  glory  of 
English  history. 

True,  I  knew  too  well  the  battle  with  weakness 
was  not  won  yet.  That  common  self-restraint,  com- 
mon Industry,  perhaps  common  principle  even,  had 
yet  to  be  taught.  I  knew,  too,  the  fertile  soil  when 
once  stirred  would  grow  weeds  as  well  as  wheat. 
Still  It  was  fertile.  I  had  not  to  deal  with  that  most 
hopeless  of  creatures,  a  dullard  and  a  dunce. 

But  dearer  to  my  heart  than  any  dream  of  train- 
ing him  as  a  statesman,  was  that  of  training  him  to 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  79 

be  a  worthy  heir  to,  and,  In  God's  good  time,  worthy 
owner  of  this  noble  place.  I  don't  think  I  troubled 
about  reward.  The  honour  of  the  thing  was  enough 
in  itself.  For  the  beauty  of  Hover  had  rapt  me; 
and  it  seemed  to  me  in  training  the  boy  to  govern 
It  well,  I  should  identify  myself  with  Its  life  and 
his  life,  thus  making  both  him  and  it,  In  a  sense, 
my  own. 

When  I  walked  about  the  place,  on  which  de- 
pended not  merely  the  employment,  but  the  civilisa- 
tion and  morality  of  hundreds,  still  more,  when  I 
rode  the  country-side  for  miles,  north,  south,  and 
east,  and  west,  and,  on  Inquiry  whose  was  the  farm, 
whose  the  colliery,  the  parish,  the  township,  re- 
ceived for  answer — as  if  Puss  In  Boots  had  been 
there  before  me — that  it  belonged  to  the  Earl  of 
Longmoor,  otherwise  my  lord  Marquis  of  Carabas 
— and  when  I  saw,  too,  the  neglected  fields  and  home- 
steads, the  villages  reeking  with  filth,  the  villagers 
degraded  by  poverty — when  I  saw  the  collieries, 
hideous  sight !  with  their  groups  of  half-naked  girls, 
who  seemed  to  have  cast  off  all  shame  and  woman- 
hood, and  of  men,  whose  souls  seemed  as  dark  and 
foul  as  their  bodies,  their  clusters  of  wretched  cot- 
tages, far  from  church  and  school,  upon  some  bleak 
moorside — when  I  saw  those  bleak  moors  them- 
selves, capable,  as  Bralthwaite  had  assured  me,  of 
growing  rich  crops,  and  contrasted  them  with  the 
estates  of  Lord  Yarborough  (let  his  name  be  hon- 
oured!) In  my  native  Lincolnshire,  my  heart  burned 
within  me,  and  I  felt  It  a  sacred  duty  to  enlighten 


8o  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

the  boy  regarding  his  tremendous  obligation  to  the 
land  and  the  dwellers  upon  it,  to  awaken  not  only 
his  interest,  but  some  instinct  of  service,  remember- 
ing that  of  those  to  whom  much  has  been  given 
much  also  is,  very  surely,  required. 

Soon  the  opportunity  came. 

We  had  ridden  out  some  three  miles  in  a  direction 
we  had  never  taken  before,  when  we  passed,  by 
bridle  gates,  through  a  large  farm  which  offered  a 
strikingly  different  aspect  to  that  of  all  around. 

The  fields  were  full  fifty  acres  each,  and  planted — 
it  was  the  month  of  July — with  every  kind  of  crop, 
including  some  roots  which  were  new  to  my  eye, 
neatly  drilled  in  rows.  Not  a  weed  was  to  be  seen 
far  or  wide.  Deep  open  cuttings,  seemingly  lately 
made,  were  carrying  off  the  water  after  last  night's 
thunderstorm.  The  sheep  and  cattle  were  of  a  dif- 
ferent and  larger  breed  than  those  of  the  neighbour- 
hood. All  bore  marks  of  recent  improvement,  fol- 
lowed up  by  detailed  Industry,  and,  a  sight  strange 
in  England  then,  over  the  large  neat  farm-buildings 
smoked  the  tall  chimney  of  an  engine-house. 

"  What  a  splendid  farm!  "  quoth  I.  "  Whose  is 
this?" 

Hartover  did  not  know.  The  groom  on  being 
asked  said  it  was  called  Mere  Ban — "  Bralthwalte's 
place." 

"  Oh!   that  revolutionary  rascal?  " 

"  He  has  made  a  revolution  here,"  said  I. 

"  He  has,  sir,"  put  In  the  groom.  "  Seven  years 
agone  this  land  would  not  carry  a  horse  for  nine 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  8i 

months  In  the  year,  most  of  it.  All  moor  It  was  and 
deep  moss." 

And  the  groom  trotted  on  to  open  the  next  gate. 

"  Ah,"  said  I,  "  why  should  not  the  whole  estate 
be  like  this?" 

''Why  should  it?" 

The  simplicity  of  the  question  shocked  and  puz- 
zled me. 

"  Because — because  " — I  looked  about  for  an  an- 
swer— "  your  rent-roll  would  be  doubled." 

"  There  is  money  enough  in  the  family,  I  believe, 
already." 

"  And  so  much  more  food  would  be  grown,  and 
so  much  more  employment  given." 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  And — your  duty  towards  your  country  and  your 
king  would  be  better  done." 

"  Humph.  And  pray  what  may  that  be,  Mr. 
Philosopher?  " 

"  To  make  England  richer  and  stronger  year  by 
year." 

"  You  are  always  bothering  about  duty,  old  Phi- 
losopher." 

"  It  is  God  Who  troubles  people  with  their  duty, 
Lord  Hartover,  and  sometimes  troubles  them  still 
more  if  they  do  not  do  it." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "what  can  I  do?  I  am  not  in 
possession,  you  will  be  pleased  to  recollect;  and  if 
my  father  is  an  old  " — he  checked  himself — "  that  Is 
not  my  fault,  is  it?  " 

"  No,"  I  hastened  to  reply — "  and  we  are  here 


82  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

not  to  pass  judgment  upon  the  actions  and  conduct 
of  others,  but  only  upon  our  own." 

Then  I  tried  to  put  to  him  something  of  the  obli- 
gations, as  well  as  the  privileges,  which  inheritance 
of  a  great  name  and  property  carry  with  them,  re- 
calling much  that  Mr.  Braithwalte  had  said  to  me  on 
that  memorable  drive,  and  using  the  excellent  work- 
ing of  his  farm  and  the  words  noblesse  oblige  as  my 
text.  The  subject  fired  me,  and  I  think  I  made  my 
exposition  and  appeal  not  without  a  certain  elo- 
quence. The  boy  listened  patiently  and  sweet-tem- 
peredly  enough,  though  how  far  I  raised  an  answer- 
ing flame  In  him  I  could  not  then  judge.  That  he 
should  listen  at  all  was  so  much  to  the  good. 

We  had  been  walking  the  horses.  Now,  turning 
Into  a  green  lane  shaded  by  an  avenue  of  hedgerow 
elms,  he  put  his  horse  to  a  trot;  and,  with  a  saucy, 
half-laughing  lift  of  the  head,  said  to  me  over  his 
shoulder — 

"  Why  not  tell  all  this  to  the  Rusher,  Instead  of 
to  me?" 

"What  has  Colonel  Esdaile  to  do  with  It?"  I 
asked  surprised,  ranging  my  horse  alongside  his. 

"  Why,  he  stands  next  In  the  succession,  don't  you 
know  that,  my  stepmother  having  no  children.  And 
though  he  Is  twice  as  old  as  I  am,  he  has  three  times 
as  good  a  constitution  as  mine.  Don't  go  and  say 
that  probably  at  my  age  he  took  better  care  of  his 
health.  He  racketted  freely  enough.  But  If  you  are 
built  like  a  bull,  and  can  carry  as  much  liquor  as 
would  put  half  a  dozen  ordinary  men  under  the 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  83 

table,  with  a  steady  head,  you  can  afford  to  racket." 
The  boy's  cynical  tone  distressed  me,  while  the  fact 
he  stated  gave  me  cause  for  thought.  I  had  not 
known  Colonel  Esdaile  was  next  heir  to  the  title  and 
estate.  It  complicated  the  position;  and,  though  I 
tried  not  to  speculate  on  that  point,  put  a  different 
complexion  upon  his  friendship  with  her  ladyship. 
Did  the  boy  speak  at  random  only  to  tease  me,  or 
did  he  measure  the  significance  of  what  he  had  just 
said? 


CHAPTER  IX 

In  so  large  a  house  as  Hover,  it  is  possible  for 
people  to  dwell  for  a  long  time  under  its  roof  with- 
out meeting,  unless  some  common  interest  or  occupa- 
tion draws  them  together.  Fully  three  weeks  passed 
before  I  made  acquaintance  with  Lord  Longmoor's 
resident  physician  of  the  body;  and  the  better  part 
of  three  months  before  I  held  intercourse  with  his 
resident  physician  of  the  soul. 

The  latter  gentleman,  I  own,  I  felt  no  particular 
craving  to  meet.  He  might  be  a  highly  respectable 
and  pious  person;  but,  from  hints  dropped  by  War- 
cop,  and  even  by  Hartover  himself,  I  had  reason  to 
guess  the  influence  he  exercised  over  Lord  Long- 
moor  was  antagonistic  to  my  pupil,  whose  misde- 
meanours he  was  prone  to  magnify  rather  than  ex- 
cuse. Nor  were  my  fears  under  this  head  allayed 
by  our  interview.  It  took  place  on  the  first  day  of 
grouse-shooting,  when  Hartover  had  gone  to  the 
moors  with  Colonel  Esdaile  and  some  gentlemen 
staying  in  the  house. 

Mr.  Halidane,  a  rosy-faced,  sleek-haired,  stout 
young  man  of  about  thirty,  entered  the  room  smiling, 
shook  me  warmly  by  the  hand — his  own  was  white, 
plump  and  somewhat  squashy — and  inquired 
briskly — 

84 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  85 

*'  Mr.  Brownlow,  my  dear  sir,  and  how's  your 
soul?" 

I  understood  the  meaning  of  the  phrase,  having 
experienced  similar  little  Impertinences  from  College 
friends.  The  Evangelical  movement  at  Cambridge 
was  then  In  the  flush  of  youthful  extravagance,  affect- 
ing, for  good  or  evil,  all  sorts  of  characters  In  all 
sorts  of  different  ways.  Like  the  High  Church  party 
at  Oxford,  thirty  years  later — perhaps  like  every 
outbreak  of  fanaticism — It  had  Its  ascetic  party, 
Its  mystical  party.  Its  formalist  party;  Its  dilettante 
and  altogether  insincere  adherents — often  the  most 
active  and  noisy  of  all — hanging  about  the  nucleus 
of  really  convinced  and  virtuous  men  like  the  nebu- 
lous tall  round  a  comet.  Attracted  towards  the 
movement  by  conceit  or  curiosity,  and  soon  bound  to 
it  by  Interest  and  party  spirit,  they  adopted  little  of 
Its  doctrine  save  a  contempt  for  the  uninitiated,  and 
little  of  its  practice  save  a  few  catch-words  and  fan- 
tastic phrases.  While — since  young  men  are  prone 
to  caricature  their  teachers — both  contempt  and 
catch-words  were  somewhat  ostentatiously  thrust  In 
the  faces  of  those  who,  like  myself,  belonged  rather 
to  the  rational,  and,  as  it  was  called.  High  and  Dry 
School. 

From  my  own  excellent  Master,  Dr.  Marston,  as 
well  as  from  the  wise  and  learned  divine — after- 
wards Bishop  of  Peterborough — whose  theological 
lectures  I  attended,  I  had  learnt  that  neither  doctrine 
nor  practice  was  to  be  based  upon  the  shifting  sand- 
bank of  inward  frames  and  feelings ;  but  on  the  solid 


86  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

rock  of  reason  and  virtuous  principles.  I  had  seen, 
in  my  own  Cambridge  experience,  how  those  same 
frames  and  feelings,  when  the  first  fervour  of  con- 
version cooled,  required  more  and  more  unnatural 
excitement  to  keep  them  alive.  Too  often  they  died 
out  entirely,  leaving  behind  no  solid  foundation  of 
good  morals;  and  permitted  the  man  who  had 
trusted  in  them  to  become — save  in  a  few  external 
restrictions  as  to  balls,  parties,  and  race-meetings — 
as  worldly,  and  sometimes  even  as  sensual,  as  the 
unregenerate  whom  he  despised.  Though,  there- 
fore, I  was  not  astonished  at  Mr.  Halidane's  ad- 
dress, it  did  not  raise  him  in  my  estimation;  and, 
after  fencing  the  question  by  an  answer  which  was 
too  honest  to  be  satisfactory  to  him,  I  began  to 
watch  the  man  narrowly  in  order  to  see  how  far  he 
was  really  in  earnest,  and  whether  he  was  to  be  dealt 
with  as  a  fanatic  or  as  a  hypocrite. 

I  soon  became  aware  he  was  really  in  earnest.  He 
talked  largely  about  his  own  soul,  about  the  earl's 
soul,  about  Lord  Hartover's  soul,  in  language  which 
forbade  me  to  doubt  that  their  salvation  was  of  real 
importance  in  his  eyes.  But  conceit  and  egoism 
were  patent  in  every  word.  I  shrank  from  him  in- 
wardly, when  he  proceeded  to  assure  me  that  he  was 
the  subject  of  special  revelations  from  Heaven;  and 
detailed  to  me  instances  in  which  his  prayers  had 
been  miraculously  answered.  Then,  again,  I  could 
scarcely  repress  a  smile  when,  after  talking  of  Lord 
Longmoor  in  language  which  expressed  the  most 
abject  worship  of  rank,  he  finished  by — 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  87 

"  But  what  of  the  friendship  of  the  great  of  this 
world?  No,  sir.  Am  I  not  greater  than  earls, 
princes,  and  potentates,  I  who  converse  dally  with 
the  King  of  Kings?  " 

I  gathered  from  his  conversation  that  he  had  been 
bred  In  the  Kirk  of  Scotland;  that,  discontented  with 
it,  he  had  left  It  for  more  than  one  form  of  dissent; 
and  had  finally — so  he  said,  though  I  doubted  the 
truth  of  the  definition — attached  himself  to  a  certain 
new  sect  of  "  Saints  Indeed."  In  them  alone,  he 
asserted,  all  the  marks  of  a  perfect  Church  on  Earth 
were  to  be  found.  They  alone  were  assured  of  sal- 
vation; and  he  pressed  earnestly  upon  me,  as  I  valued 
my  own  soul,  to  Imitate  the  Illustrious  example  of 
Lord  Longmoor,  and  myself  become  a  "  saint  In- 
deed." 

I  humbly  confessed  my  content  with  the  church 
In  which  I  had  been  born  and  brought  up ;  my  Igno- 
rance of  those  experiences  of  mental  self-torture  and 
self-exultation  on  which  he  Insisted,  as  the  com- 
mencement of  Christian  life ;  and  was  consequently 
told,  with  melancholy  sighs  and  shakes  of  the  head, 
that  I  was  still  "  carnal,"  "  sold  under  sin,"  and  cer- 
tain of  everlasting  perdition. 

I  did  not  deny  the  charge,  having  expected  It — and 
from  the  first.  But  I  did  not  expect  that  by  differing 
from  Mr.  Halldane,  although  In  the  most  guarded 
and  gentle  language,  I  should  make  him  on  the  spot 
my  bitter  enemy.  I  had  had  as  yet  Insufficient  ex- 
perience of  the  party  spirit  which  hardens  the  heart 
against  feelings  of  genial  humanity,  and  teaches  men 


88  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

to  see  In  all  who  will  not  support  them  and  their 
clique  the  "  enemies  of  God,"  whom  they  are  justified 
In  "  hating  right  sore  "  even  as  though  they  were 
their  private  foes. 

But  enmity,  though  Inspired  then,  did  not  show 
Itself  till  later.  Halidane  was  shrewd  enough  to 
keep  the  peace  while  he  had  an  object  to  gain;  and 
he  went  on  to  extol  Lord  Longmoor's  piety  and  vir- 
tues In  terms  so  grossly  fulsome  that  I  had  much  ado 
to  avoid  some  counter-observations,  which  might 
have  been  carried  straight  to  his  lordship  as  a  charge 
against  me. 

It  may  seem  that  I  began  to  distrust  the  man  too 
soon;  but  there  are  Instinctive  repulsions  and  antipa- 
thies against  which  It  Is  vain  to  fight,  and  Instinct 
told,  or  seemed  to  tell  me,  that  however  sincere  his 
religious  convictions,  Halidane  was  not  In  some  re- 
spects honest.  I  did  not  believe  him,  nor  do  I  now, 
to  have  been  consciously  and  deliberately  false:  but 
I  had  seen  how  fanaticism  can  demoralise.  I  had 
seen,  too,  how  the  braggart,  whether  he  brag  of 
earthly  or  of  heavenly  matters.  Is  perpetually 
tempted  to  say  and  do  anything  which  will  further 
his  own  self-glorification.  Therefore  I  was  wary, 
and  contented  myself  by  remarking,  that  I  was  de- 
lighted to  hear  Lord  Longmoor  was  so  estimable ; 
that  I  considered  myself  most  fortunate  in  becom- 
ing a  member  of  his  household;  and  that  I  hoped 
that  I  should  some  day  have  the  privilege  of 
observing,  in  person,  the  excellences  of  which  he 
spoke. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  89 

'And  at  those  words  I  observed  a  sudden  shyness 
and  restraint  come  over  my  new  acquaintance. 

Yes — he  hoped  so.  He  trusted  so.  But  his  lord- 
ship's health  was  so  very  weak;  and  he  was  so  deeply 
occupied  with  the  great  work  which  he  was  preparing 
for  the  press,  that — "  In  short,  you  must  be  aware, 
my  dear  sir,  these  exalted  personages,  from  the  Im- 
mense gulf  which  exists  between  them  and  us,  are 
not  to  be  expected  to  see  much  of — you  understand 
me?  As  for  myself,  a  humble  servant  of  the  good 
cause,  If  I  am  admitted  somewhat  often  to  his  pres- 
ence It  Is  only  In  my  religious  capacity,  as  a  helpmate 
— a  secretary — a  transcriber  of  his  thoughts.  In 
fact,"  said  he,  with  a  giggle,  "  as  a  sort  of  spiritual 
valet." 

I  nearly  did  more  than  giggle  at  this  Ingenuous 
confession  of  the  truth;  but  contented  myself  with 
assuring  him  that  I  had  neither  hope  nor  wish  to 
aspire  to  the  friendship  of  so  great  a  person.  All  I 
desired  was  to  receive  his  commands  as  to  the  course 
to  be  pursued  with  his  son. 

At  mention  of  the  boy,  Mr.  Halldane  began  to 
groan;  and  to  groan  still  louder,  when  I  informed 
him  that  I  found  the  lad  most  intelligent,  sweet- 
natured,  open  to  all  good  impulses. 

He  caught  at  one  word — nature. 

"Nature?  Filthy  rags,  a  cage  of  unclean  birds, 
sweet  though  they  seem.  Grace,  my  dear  sir, 
grace  is  what  is  needed,  and  what,  I  fear,  is  not 
there." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  I  said,  getting  a  little  naughty, 


90  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  I  think  Lord  Hartover  one  of  the  most  graceful 
persons  I  ever  saw." 

He  looked  at  me,  puzzled,  as  I  intended  he 
should  be — 

"  Graceful  ?  It  Is  a  very  different  grace  of  which  I 
speak." 

And  he  went  on  with  certain  theological  proposi- 
tions, on  the  whole  very  true,  though  not  stated  in 
the  most  wise  or  merciful  fashion. 

"  And  it  is  my  very  painful  duty  to  tell  you,  I  hear 
that,  instead  of  bringing  the  poor  boy  to  a  sense  of 
his  awful  danger,  you  have  been  amusing  his  perish- 
ing soul,  and  wasting  precious  moments,  by  carnal 
instruction  in  the  merest  vanities — books — armour — 
antiquities,  and  such  things." 

"  Has  Lord  Longmoor  any  objection  to  my  doing 
so?  "  I  asked  very  simply. 

''  His  lordship  has  but  one  anxiety  about  his  son — 
his  immortal  soul — a  sense  of  his  situation." 

"  Then  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  his  lordship 
that  I  have  been  doing  my  utmost,  ever  since  I  en- 
tered the  house,  to  bring  his  son  to  that  very  sense 
of  his  situation." 

"  So  you  think  his  soul  in  a  very  awful  state?  " 

This  was  said  as  eagerly  as  if  the  questioner  hoped 
for  an  affirmative.  I  suspected  a  trap,  and  began  to 
look  still  more  narrowly  at  my  man. 

"  My  opinion  is  worth  little,  my  dear  sir.  We  all, 
I  suppose,  know  what  Lord  Hartover  has  been. 
Pray  tell  his  lordship  that  I  shall  do  my  very  best 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  91 

to  bring  about  an  utter  change ;  and  that  I  see  already 
the  most  hopeful  signs  of  It." 

"You  trust  In  the  arm  of  the  flesh,  sir!  In  the 
arm  of  the  flesh !  God  alone  can  change  his  heart, 
and  you  arrogate  to  yourself  the  power  of  God.  It 
IS  blasphemy,  sir,  and  Pelagianism.  Good-bye,  and 
Heaven  send  you  a  better  mind !  " 

And  he  went  out  quite  angry,  leaving  me  to  pon- 
der over  the  strange  contradictions  of  a  system 
which,  while  asserting  that  all  goodness  is  the  gift  of 
Heaven,  condemns  men  to  everlasting  misery  be- 
cause they  fail  to  have  that  which  has  not  been  given 
them. 

I  was  seriously  vexed  however  at  Mr.  Halidane 
leaving  me  thus  in  anger.  I  had  no  wish  to  make 
enemies,  particularly  of  one  who  had  my  lord's  ear. 
I  blamed  myself  for  my  want  of  tact  and  caution: 
though,  the  more  I  looked  into  my  words,  the  less  I 
found  for  which  to  take  myself  to  task.  I  had  still 
to  learn  how  unprofitable  it  is  to  deal  with  a  fanatic, 
shut  up  within  the  four  corners  of  his  own  system. 
When  reason  and  humanity  have  both  been  abjured 
as  carnal,  common  sense  cannot  evoke  common  sense, 
or  a  soft  answer  turn  away  wrath.  So  with  a  heavy 
heart,  I  awaited  the  boy's  return  from  shooting. 


CHAPTER  X      ' 

I  WAS  not  nervous  or  given  to  fancies ;  but  I  cannot 
deny,  as  I  waited  for  my  pupil  that  evening,  anxiety 
and  depression  grew  upon  me.  On  one  excuse  or 
another  he  had  been  away  from  me  often  lately.  It 
was  not  easy  to  take  a  middle  course  between  allowing 
him  a  dangerous  measure  of  liberty  and  holding  him 
with  too  tight  a  rein.  I  felt  or  Imagined — more  than 
probably  the  latter,  as  I  told  myself — alien  Influ- 
ences were  working  against  my  control  of  him.  Who 
was  the  plotter?  I  could  not  say.  But,  for  the  past 
week  or  ten  days,  he  had  certainly  been  less  sweet- 
tempered,  less  Industrious,  less  open  to  suggestions 
of  duty.  I  thought  I  detected  a  craving  for  novelty 
and  for  excitement.  Perhaps  the  long  day's  sport, 
in  the  glorious  air  of  the  moors,  would  allay  that 
craving,  amuse  him  and  send  him  home  honestly 
tired  to  bed. 

Nine  o'clock  struck. — Ten. — A  scuffle  on  the  stairs 
outside,  and,  supported  by  William,  he  burst  In, 
heated,  quarrelsome,  noisy.  In  plain  English  more 
than  half-drunk. 

I  was  cut  to  the  quick.  For  so  long  there  had  been 
no  lapse  of  this  kind.  For  the  moment  I  was  weak, 
losing  faith  and  hope.  Was  this  to  be  the  end  of  my 
ambitions,  my  dreams  for  him  and  for  Hover?  Was 
my  Prince  Charming — and  more  than  merely  Prince 

92 


THE  TUTOR^S  STORY  93 

Charming — to  sink  Into  a  miserable  and  useless  sot? 

That  which  followed  was  painful.  Why  dwell  on 
it?  To  describe  such  things  profits  neither  reader  or 
writer.  Best  let  them  be  hid.  With  the  help  of 
William — over  whom  I  had  acquired  a  certain 
ascendency,  and  who,  though  ignorant  and  servile, 
was  not  a  bad  fellow  at  bottom — I  got  the  boy  to 
bed. 

Next  morning  he  sulked,  too  sick  to  eat,  and  also 
too  ashamed,  I  believe,  to  risk  an  explanation.  His 
head  ached — he  couldn't  be  bothered  to  talk.  No — 
he  hated  billiards.  He  didn't  want  to  ride — It  was 
so  wet  and  beastly  out.  After  luncheon  he  an- 
nounced defiantly  that  he  was  going  to  see  Made- 
moiselle Fedore  in  the  workroom.  He  wanted  to 
speak  to  her  about  something.  When  I  put  In  a 
gentle  remonstrance  he  broke  out,  with  an  oath — 
*'  Why  not?  She'd  been  very  kind  to  him  In  the  past. 
What  would  he  have  done  but  for  her,  before  I  came, 
when  he  was  so  lonely?  He  believed  I  suspected 
her  of  evil  designs.  I  was  not  fair  to  her." — And  so 
forth  and  so  on — a  perverted  and  truculent  chivalry 
awakened  in  him.  He  was  glad,  moreover,  I  think, 
to  find  any  outside  cause  of  anger  wherewith  to 
blow  ofi  the  steam  of  his  shame  and  anger  against 
himself. 

Short  of  force — which  under  the  circumstances 
was  impracticable — I  could  not  prevent  his  going  to 
the  workroom.    And,  still  defiant,  he  went. 

After  a  while  I  betook  myself  to  the  stables,  sadly 
enough,  determined  to  take  counsel  of  Warcop,  who, 


94  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

at  times,  seemed  to  me  the  one  really  sane  man  in 
the  establishment. 

There  was  no  need  to  state  my  errand.  After 
looking  round  warily,  to  make  sure  no  eavesdroppers 
were  present,  he  began  without  further  preamble — 

*'  So  a'  the  fat's  i'  the  fire  again,  sir,  worse  luck." 

**  How  did  you  hear  that,  Warcop?  " 

"  Everybody  on  the  place  has  heard  it  by  now. 
Mr.  Marsigli  let  Lord  Hartover  in  last  night  and 
ca'd  William  to  him.  And  what  Mr.  Marsigli  kens, 
Mamzell  kens." 

"Why?" 

"  The  twa  furriners  hang  together — French  Mam- 
zell and  Italian  maccaroni — how  should  they  not?  " 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  twinkle  of  humorous 
contempt. 

"  And  what  Mamzell  kens,  her  ladyship  kens — 
for  the  main  part.  And  what  she  kens,  Mr.  Hali- 
dane  kens — an'  she  pleases.  And  what  he  kens  goes 
on  to  my  lord,  dished  up,  I  promise  you,  wi'  all 
manner  o'  slavering  sickly-sweet  sauce,  to  tickle  his 
swallow  just  as  Mr.  Halidane  wants  it  tickled — that 
is  to  my  young  lord's  disrepute  and  disgrace." 

Warcop  must  have  been  deeply  moved  to  lay  aside 
his  Yorkshire  caution  thus,  and  express  himself  so 
freely  even  to  me.  I  was  shocked,  though  not  wholly 
surprised.  It  was  an  ugly  chain;  but  one  link  was 
still  missing,  so  I  thought.     I  asked  him — 

"  And  what  about  Colonel  Esdaile  in  all  this?  " 

Warcop  shook  his  head. 

"  I  canna  tell  ye,"  he  said  slowly.    "  I  do  not  ken 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  95 

myself.  By  times  I  seem  to  hold  the  truth  of  it  a' 
by  the  tall,  and  then  again  It  slips  fra  between  my 
fingers.  Never  have  I  gripped  It  fairly  round  the 
belly  yet.  I  doubt  if  the  colonel  has  ever  gripped  it 
fairly  any  more  than  me.  A  man  may  be  pulled  twa 
ways  too  hard  to  ken  which  way  he  wants  to  travel 
most." 

And  he  was  silent.  Evidently  he  spoke  in  good 
faith,  and  had  said  his  last  word  on  that  point.  But 
there  was  something  further  I  had  to  ask.  I  told 
him  so,  adding — 

"  I  have  not  a  soul  I  can  depend  on,  Warcop,  ex- 
cept you.  I  know  your  first  object  is  the  dear  boy's 
well-being." 

"  'Deed,"  he  Interrupted,  "  an'  you're  right.  I've 
been  in  t'  stables  here  ever  syne  I  was  ten  years  auld, 
ever  syne  I  cam'  wi'  my  father  out  of  bonny  Craven. 
And  I've  had  but  twa  things  to  fill  my  heart  for  mony 
a  year,  and  that  is  t'  harses  and  t'  lad.  T'  harses 
canna  be  mended,  though  I  say  it;  for  I've  had  the 
breeding  of  them  and  t'  making  of  them.  T'  lad  can ; 
for  I've  had  na  t'  breeding  o'  him;  and  I've  no  had 
the  making  of  him  neither,  nebbut  his  riding,  which 
he  needna  be  ashamed  on  nor  I  either, — so  ye  must 
do  t'  mending,  sir.  Ye've  begun  well  and  ye  mustna 
be  disheartened  and  go  back  on  your  work,  though 
the  odds  are  against  you.  I  don't  say  they're  not. 
But  hold  on,  sir,  hold  on.  Don't  turn  back  at  this 
check,  and  you'll  bring  him  through  at  last,  and  God 
bless  you  for  it " — he  raised  his  hat  reverently — 
*'  bless  you  and  your  work." 


96  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

I  thanked  him,  told  him  he  had  done  me  good.  So 
he  had.  My  faith  and  hope  revived.  Better  still, 
perhaps,  my  resolution  revived  also. 

"  But  tell  me  this,"  I  said.  "  I  will  keep  it,  you 
may  be  very  sure,  to  myself.  Do  you  think  there  is 
anything  going  on  between  his  lordship  and  Made- 
moiselle Fedore?  " 

Warcop's  face  assumed  its  true  Yorkshire,  that 
is  to  say  its  wily  foxy  expression. 

"  You  have  twa  odd  names  t^  couple  together ! 
Well  then — I  suppose  the  French  she-devil  has  been 
doing  a'  her  powers  to  snare  him  this  long  time  past 
— and  that's  truth." 

"  But  has  she  snared  him?  " 

"  Well  then — I  suppose  the  she-kite  kens  her  trade 
well  enough." 

"  But — I  had  better  make  a  clean  breast  of  it, 
Warcop.  I  spoke  to  him  about  her  to-day;  and  he 
was  furious,  took  me  up  short,  refusing  to  hear  a 
word  against  her,  vows  she  is  as  pure  as  snow." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  believe  him,  sir?  '* 

*' Do  you  believe  it?" 

"  I  may  ha'  my  own  reasons." 

*'  And  so  may  I,  Warcop." 

He  sat  down  on  a  bin,  and  began  drumming  with 
his  heels  and  chewing  violently  at  the  straw  in  his 
mouth.     Suddenly  he  looked  up  with  a  strong  word. 

"I've  found  it,"  he  said.  "Oh!  the  whinnying 
she-kite !    T'  ane's  ill,  but  this  is  worse  than  ill  1  " 

"What?" 

"Why   this   virtuous   dodge — Ah!     they   lasses! 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  97 

IVe  kenned  it  a'  before  this.  Dinnot  ye  see  for  yer- 
self?" 

"See  what?" 

*'  Why,  that  she  wants  to  have  him  on  to  marry 
her.  I'll  warrant  that's  her  game,  the  jade.  'Od  but 
I'll  wring  her  thrapple  with  my  ain  hands  first !  " 

And  springing  up  from  the  bin  he  tramped  to  and 
fro  fiercely. 

That  idea  had  never,  I  admit,  occurred  to  me.  My 
knowledge  of  women,  my  knowledge  of  life,  indeed, 
was  small;  and,  at  first,  it  struck  me  as  preposterous. 

"  But  he  is  so  young!  "  I  said. 

"  Wi'  your  high-bred  colt,  your  high-bred  dog, 
young  blood's  hot." 

"  She  is  years  older  than  him — and  then  the  differ- 
ence of  position,  of  rank." 

"  Strange  meats  whet  appetite,"  he  said.  **  So  do 
strange  women.  Ha'  you  never  read  your  Bible,  sir, 
your  Auld  Testament?  There's  a  might  o'  very 
curious  learning  anent  the  ways  o'  man  and  woman 
in  Holy  Writ.  Watch  him,  sir,  watch  him ;  but  about 
her  be  careful  to  keep  your  mouth  shut.  To  blame 
her,  with  a  generous  lad,  is  but  to  send  up  her  price. 
Ah!  the  pity  he's  no  sisters,  now,  no  young  ladies 
of  his  ain  house  and  class  to  be  sweet  on  and  play 
with.  One  lass  '11  drive  another  lass  out  o'  a  lad's 
head,  but  it's  plaguy  work  to  drive  her  out  else." 

The  next  day  the  dear  boy's  shame  took  a  more 
gracious  turn.  Within  the  week  he  had  resumed  his 
former  habits  and  our  affectionate  relations  were  re- 
established.     Moreover,     Her     Magnificence     left 


98  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

Hover  for  a  time  to  pay  a  round  of  visits — while  his 
lordship,  Mr.  Halidane,  his  doctor  and  three  men- 
servants  in  attendance,  moved  to  Bath,  as  was  his 
wont  in  the  autumn,  to  drink  the  waters  and  confer 
regarding  spiritual  matters,  as  I  understood,  with 
certain  "  saints  indeed  "  there  resident. 

Lady  Longmoor  had  taken  Mademoiselle  Fedore 
along  with  her — for  which  I  gave  God  thanks. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Here  I  must  go  back  In  my  story,  to  pick  up  threads 
which  were  to  work  into  the  pattern  not  only  of  my 
life,  but  of  the  dear  boy's  likewise,  with  lasting  re- 
sults. 

Having  found  where  Mr.  Braithwaite  lived,  I  did 
not  neglect  the  invitation  he  so  kindly  gave  me  on  the 
night  of  my  arrival  at  Hover.  Indeed,  thenceforth, 
my  walks  to  Mere  Ban,  and  the  conversations  I  had 
with  him  at  the  pleasant  stone-built  house — facing 
south,  overlooking  an  orchard  and  flower  garden; 
barns,  farm  and  rick-yards,  ranges  of  stables,  cow- 
sheds and  outbuildings,  including  the  engine-house 
with  Its  tall  chimney,  to  right  and  left,  the  whole 
backed  by  a  high  distance  of  moor  and  fell — came 
to  be  among  the  greatest  pleasures  of  such  hours  as 
I  could  claim  from  my  regular  duties — a  dangerous 
pleasure,  perhaps,  with  heartache,  nearly  heart- 
break behind  it.  But  these  were  to  come  later;  and 
even  with  them,  God  knows,  I  have  no  quarrel  now. 

I  found  Mr.  Braithwaite  a  man  of  advanced 
views,  but  of  sound  and  temperate  judgment,  whose 
opinions  commanded  my  respect  even  when  I  could 
not  fully  endorse  them.  I  learnt  much  from  him 
of  interest  and  value  about  the  manufacturing  and 
agricultural  classes,  about  the  conditions  of  labour — 
too  often  a  crying  disgrace  to  our  vaunted  civillsa- 

99 


100  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

tlon,  let  alone  our  Christianity — and  about  the  life 
of  the  poor,  who,  he  asserted,  owing  to  the  abuses 
of  our  social  and  economic  system,  "  had  got  but  a 
very  little  way  from  the  serf  and  savage  even  yet." 
As  I  have  already  mentioned,  he  strongly  supported 
the  new  Poor  Law,  then  being  agitated,  to  which  he 
looked  to  lift  the  blighting  stigma  of  pauperism  from 
off  our  peasant  population.  He  was  also,  I  found, 
an  ardent  advocate  of  national  education;  and,  in 
practical  politics,  hopefully  forecasted  many  of  the 
provisions  of  the  Reform  Bill,  carried  a  couple  of 
years  later  by  Lord  John  Russell  in  the  teeth  of  Tory 
opposition.  His  contention,  I  observed,  always  came 
back  to  the  old  and  incontrovertible,  if  in  some  direc- 
tions unwelcome,  definition,  that  the  good  of  the 
governed  is  the  end,  the  raison  d'etre^  of  govern- 
ment. 

By  degrees,  notwithstanding  the  reserve  native  to 
his  character,  he  told  me  something  of  his  private 
life.  After  the  loss  of  his  wife  and  only  son,  a  boy 
of  ten,  during  an  epidemic  of  fever,  he  had  sold  his 
business  in  Leeds  and  removed  to  the  country  for 
the  sake  of  the  health  of  his  remaining  child,  a 
daughter.  As  to  the  latter  his  object  was  certainly 
attained,  for  a  young  girl  more  nobly  endowed, 
both  in  mind  and  body,  than  Nellie  Braithwaite — 
then  in  her  nineteenth  year — I  have  never  seen  or 
wished  to  see.  The  broad,  full  brow  surmounted  by 
its  crown  of  dark  hair,  telling  of  intellect  and  imagi- 
nation; the  flush  of  the  cheek  under  the  quickening 
of  sympathy  or  emotion;  above  all  the  glorious  eyes. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  xm 

steadfast  and  fearless,  serious  with  thought  or  be- 
witching with  laughter,  made  a  picture  that  might 
well  have  inspired  the  genius  of  a  Reynolds  or  a 
Lawrence. 

From  the  time  of  his  wife's  death,  Mr.  Braith- 
waite's  half-sister  Miss  Ann,  a  quiet,  sweet-faced 
spinster,  had  lived  under  his  roof  and  devoted  her- 
self to  the  care  of  his  daughter.  But  Nellie,  although 
still  so  young,  was  both  mistress  of  her  father's 
house  and  his  constant  companion,  showing,  even 
then,  the  ready  and  delicate  tact  which  later  stood 
her  in  such  good  stead  under  very  different  circum- 
stances. In  regard  to  her  education  Mr.  Bralth- 
waite  had  followed  a  system  of  his  own,  with  which 
— though  far  from  academic — I  could  find  no  fault, 
since  the  results  appeared  so  excellent.  Talking  to 
me  one  day,  when  we  were  alone,  upon  this  subject 
he  pointed  to  a  shelf  of,  what  he  called,  his  daugh- 
ter's *'  text-books  " — an  edition  of  Shakespeare  In 
many  volumes,  unexpurgated,  Hume's  History  of 
England,  the  Waverley  Novels,  then  at  the  height 
of  their  vast  popularity.  Miss  Edgeworth's  Tales, 
an  old  copy  of  Florlo's  Montaigne,  Percy's  Rellques, 
and  the  Lyrical  Ballads  of  Wordsworth  and  Cole- 
ridge— strong  meat,  so  it  struck  me,  for  a  young 
girl's  palate. 

As  to  this  I  said  nothing,  however,  willing  to  be- 
lieve my  friend  must  know  his  own  business  best. 
But,  when  I  commented,  perhaps  foolishly,  upon  the 
large  proportion  of  fiction,  he  turned  on  me 
sharply — 


loi  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  And  why  not?  Good  fiction — I  rule  sensational- 
ism and  amatory  green-sickness  out,  of  course — is  a 
very  good  handbook  to  human  nature ;  and  among  a 
woman's  first  duties,  in  my  opinion,  is  the  study  of 
human  nature.  Why?  For  her  own  happiness'  sake, 
my  dear  sir;  and  for  the  sake  of  the  family  and 
household  to  which  she  belongs  in  childhood;  and  of 
that  other  family  and  household  of  which  she  will  be 
the  centre  and  guardian  angel  later — if  she  marries 
and  bears  children,  as  every  healthy  woman  should." 

Then,  his  daughter  entering  the  room,  he  turned 
the  conversation. 

"Fiction,  indeed — and  again,  why  not?  Ah! 
there  crops  up  the  besetting  sin  of  you  scholars — 
jealousy  for  the  past  as  against  the  present;  worship 
of  all  and  any  learning,  save  learning  about  men  and 
things  here,  under  your  hand;  stiff-necked  disbelief 
that  the  live  dog,  if  not  better,  at  least  has  the  chance 
of  being  as  good  as  any  dead  lion — that  you  and  I 
Walking  the  English  country-side  here  to-day,  in 
short,  are  every  bit  as  valuable  in  God's  sight  as  any 
Greek  walking  the  streets  of  Athens  in  the  age  of 
Pericles." 

I  laughed,  promising  to  lay  the  rebuke  to  heart; 
while  assuring  him  that,  though  there  might  have 
been  some  need  of  it  in  my  Cambridge  days,  the  need 
grew  less  and  less  since  my  coming  to  Hover — a 
premature  assertion,  as  the  sequel  was  to  prove. 

"  That  is  good  hearing,"  he  said.  "  You  might 
do  worse,  believe  me,  than  take  Warcop,  bandy- 
legged old  centaur  that  he  is,  for  your  instructor  in 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  103 

— well — a  number  of  by  no  means  unimportant  mat- 
ters." 

And  that  was  as  near  as  we  ever  got  to  discussion 
of  my  pupil  and  his  concerns.  For  Mr.  Bralthwalte 
was  studious  to  avoid  asking  questions,  studious,  in- 
deed, to  avoid  all  semblance  of  curiosity.  Of  this  I 
was  glad,  as  It  relieved  our  Intercourse  from  a  care- 
fulness and  restraint  which  would  otherwise  have 
been  Incumbent  upon  me.  And  at  Mere  Ban  I  was 
glad  to  forget  Hover — though,  as  I  trust,  without 
any  disloyalty  to  the  latter.  More  and  more  the 
big  farm-house  came  to  hold  a  charm  for  me,  the 
like  of  which  I  had  never  felt  before.  Exactly  in 
what  that  charm  consisted  I  did  not  stop  to  ask 
myself.  I  was,  as  I  see  now  looking  back  at  It  all, 
a  very  great  simpleton.  I  ought  to  have  guessed, 
ought  to  have  known,  what  was  happening  to  me. 
But  I  did  not  know.  I  blundered  on  like  a  man  but 
half  awake.  Blundered,  till  I  ran  my  stupid  head 
against  a  wall,  thereby  giving  myself  a  blow,  the 
scar  of  which  smarts  at  times  even  yet — but  very 
gently,  now,  almost  gratefully.  I  should  even  be 
grieved,  I  think,  If  It  gave  up  smarting  altogether. 
Of  this  more  hereafter. 

During  the  short  winter  afternoons  my  visits  to 
Mr.  Bralthwalte  were  necessarily  less  frequent. 
Moreover,  from  merely  riding  out  with  Hartover, 
I  went  on  to  hunting  at  least  one,  often  two  days  a 
week  with  him.  I  began  chiefly  on  his  account,  be- 
lieving that  hunting  would  help  to  steady  his  nerves 
and  keep  him  out  of  mischief  generally.     Having 


I04  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

once  begun,  I  own  the  passion  of  that  manly  and 
honest  sport  grew  on  me.  Let  alone  the  pleasure  and 
health  of  it,  it  brought  me  into  contact  with  the 
neighbouring  gentry  and  farmers,  thereby  breaking 
down  my  natural  shyness  and  giving  me  greater  ease 
and  assurance  of  manner.  In  this  it  was  useful  to 
the  dear  boy,  as  well  as  to  myself,  since  it  made  me 
better  fitted  to  be  his  associate  and  companion  in 
society. 

The  last  meet  of  the  season,  a  warm  March  day, 
when  coppice  and  woodland  were  already  breaking 
into  leaf.  We  found  and  lost,  found  and  lost  again 
till  late  afternoon.  The  scent  was  light,  burnt  up  by 
the  sun.  The  horses  a  bit  faint — the  going  in  the 
lowland  heavy,  after  nearly  a  week  of  rain.  The 
hounds  had  trotted  on  home.  Hartover  and  I  rode 
back  together  slowly,  taking  our  way  down  the  green 
lane  which  crossed  an  outlying  portion  of  Mr. 
Braithwaite's  farm.  The  heads  of  the  hedgerow 
elms  showed  rose-red  in  the  level  sunshine,  and  a 
soft  westerly  wind  blew  in  our  faces. 

Hartover  took  off  his  hat  and  rode  bareheaded. 
He  was  just  wholesomely  tired,  his  humour  sweet 
and  fanciful.  His  air  at  once  gallant  and  wistful,  in 
his  mud-splashed  pink ,  with  that  effect  of  slight 
fatigue  chastening  his  beauty — verily,  a  lovable 
young  creature  in  very  perfect  harmony,  so  it  seemed 
to  me,  with  the  fair,  if  somewhat  wayward,  promise 
of  the  spring. 

Where  the  lane  makes  an  elbow,  we  came  sud- 
denly upon  a  little  flock  of  sheep — some  score  of  ewes 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  105 

with  their  lambs  beside  them,  broad,  deep-fleeced, 
dirty-drab,  slow-moving  backs  flanked  by  small,  tight- 
curled,  rusty-white,  pushing  and  jostling  backs — the 
whole  advancing  in  a  solid  mass  which  filled  the  lane 
from  bank  to  bank.  They  were  heading  away  from 
us  towards  a  five-barred  gate  that  opened,  where  the 
lane  made  a  second  elbow,  on  to  a  steep  upward 
sloping  pasture  broken  here  and  there  by  an  outcrop 
of  lavender-grey  limestone  rock. 

In  the  tall,  heavily-built  man,  clothed  in  coat, 
breeches  and  gaiters  of  pepper-and-salt  mixture,  who 
walked  behind  the  flock,  a  couple  of  collie  dogs  at 
his  heels,  I  recognised  Mr.  Braithwaite.  And  In  the 
girl,  standing  just  within  the  pasture  and  holding 
wide  the  gate,  his  daughter,  Nellie  herself.  She  wore 
a  brown  dress,  and  her  straw  hat  was  tied  down 
gipsy-fashion  with  a  wide  blue  ribbon  passed  across 
the  crown  of  it  and  knotted  beneath  her  chin. 

"  Steady,"  Hartover  said,  checking  his  horse. 
"  Don't  let's  hustle  those  jolly  little  beggars  " — 
meaning  the  lambs — ''  or  they'll  scatter." 

Then  added,  half  under  his  breath — "  Gad,  but 
what  a  pretty  picture  it  all  makes !  Who's  the  lovely 
shepherdess,  I  wonder?" 

I  told  him  and  gravely,  for  something  in  his  tone 
jarred  on  me. 

''What  a  pity!" 

"Why?" 

"Oh!  I  don't  know."  He  gave  a  naughty  little 
laugh.  "  Because  she  belongs  to  that  villainous  old 
Radical,  I  suppose,  who'd  like  nothing  better  than  to 


io6  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

pull  Hover  down  about  my  ears,  confound  him,  If 
he  only  got  the  chance.  But  I  forgot.  He's  a  friend 
of  yours,  sir,  isn't  he  ?    I  beg  your  pardon." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  with  engaging  frank- 
ness of  apology. 

Just  then,  at  a  sign  from  their  master,  the  two 
collies  sprang  forward  rounding  up  the  startled  flock. 
Once  through  the  gateway  the  sheep  and  lambs 
spread  out,  over  the  green  pasture,  into  a  great  fan 
and  began  cropping  the  sweet  short  grass;  while 
Nellie  Braithwaite,  closing  the  gate  behind  them, 
stood  waiting  for  her  father  to  join  her  and  for  us 
riders  to  pass. 

Wanting,  as  I  took  it,  to  make  amends  to  me  for 
his  little  incivility,  Hartover  greeted  Mr.  Braith- 
waite courteously  enough.  And,  while  I  stopped  to 
talk  with  the  latter  a  moment,  rode  forward  and 
spoke  to  Nellie,  hat  in  hand,  a  flush  as  of  shyness  on 
his  face.  I  only  heard  indistinctly  what  he  said — 
commonplaces  about  the  weather,  the  spring  evening, 
the  browsing  sheep.  The  girl  stood  looking  up  at 
him,  least  embarrassed  of  the  two,  as  It  struck  me, 
fearless,  serious,  her  eyes  full  of  thought. 

What  did  she  make  of  the  beautiful  boy  sitting  the 
noble  horse,  in  the  soft  westerly  wind  and  sunshine, 
amid  singing  of  birds  and  bleating  of  sheep?  She 
could  have  heard  little  good  of  him,  alas ! — a  young 
rapscallion,  reprobate  and  aristocrat,  given  to  all 
manner  of  wild  doings,  rows,  cards,  drinking  bouts. 
Did  she  judge  him  harshly  out  of  her  own  fine  purity 
and  rectitude  ?    My  feeling,  just  then,  was  more  for 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  107) 

the  boy  than  for  her.  I  am  glad  to  remember  that. 
My  instinct  was  to  plead  for  and  excuse  him,  to  pro- 
tect him  from  condemnation  on  her  part. 

I  joined  him.  We  rode  on.  Once  he  turned  in  the 
saddle  and  looked  back.  Then  he  fell  silent;  and  in 
silence  we  reached  the  great  gates,  and  rode  through 
the  Chase,  home  to  royal  Hover  piled  like  a  moun- 
tain against  the  sunset. 


CHAPTER  XII 

During  this  time  the  library  and  its  many  treasures 
had  not  been  forgotten.  By  degrees  I  rearranged 
and  catalogued  the  bulk  of  its  contents — a  labour  of 
love  if  ever  there  was  one,  though  attended  by  un- 
expected material  benefit  to  myself.  For  the  ruling 
powers  at  Hover,  namely  her  ladyship  and  Colonel 
Esdaile,  had  duly  conferred  the  post  of  librarian 
upon  me,  with  extra  salary  to  the  amount  of  seventy- 
five  pounds  a  year.  The  appointment — made,  by  the 
way,  during  Lord  Longmoor's  protracted  sojourn 
amid  the  "  Saints  indeed  "  and  medicinal  fountains  of 
Bath — was  accompanied  by  so  many  gracious 
speeches  as  to  the  esteem  in  which  she  and  the  colonel 
held  me,  and  the  value  they  set  on  my  poor  services, 
that  I  could  not  but  feel  both  elated  and  touched. 

"  No — no  thanks.  The  idea  came  from  George  " 
— Lord  Hartover — "  to  begin  with.  And  it  was 
such  a  pleasure  to  be  able  to  do  something  he  asked. 
His  requests  " — with  a  meaning  smile — "  as  I  knew, 
had  not  always  been  very  easy  to  grant.  And  it 
was  such  a  comfort  to  feel  now  the  poor  dear  books 
would  be  properly  cared  for  at  last.  The  original 
lists  and  catalogues?  Yes,  of  course,  good  Mrs. 
Caswell  should  be  made  to  disgorge  them." 

Which  she  did,  after  many  delays  and  with  a 
mighty  bad  grace. 

*'  I  ought  to  have  had  them  from  the  first;  but  one 
loS 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  109 

knew  how  jealous  old  servants  were  of  their  priv- 
ileges.— Should  I  write  and  thank  Lord  Longmoor? 
It  was  so  nice  of  me  to  think  of  that,  but  really  it 
wasn't  necessary — was  it,  Jack?  Things  of  this  sort 
iiis  lordship  was  glad  to  leave  to  her  and  Colonel 
Esdaile.  He  hated  detail — was  unequal  to  attending 
to  business;  and  their  great  object  was  to  spare  him 
all  possible  fatigue  and  worry.  Yes — his  wretched 
health  was  most  distressing,  a  terrible  trial  to  her,  of 
course." 

And  she  drew  down  the  corners  of  her  laughing 
mouth,  drooped  her  eyelids  with  their  wonderful 
black  lashes,  sighed,  raising  her  charming  shoulders, 
and  pensively  shaking  her  fair  head — recovered  her 
habitual  good  spirits,  talked  on  for  a  minute  or  so, 
fluent,  dazzling,  and — dare  I  say  it? — illiterate;  and 
swept  out,  as  she  had  swept  in,  a  brilliant  vision. 
Colonel  Jack  as  usual  hanging  on  her  skirts. 

What  did  it  all  mean  ?  Unwillingly  I  asked  myself 
that,  a  twinge  of  distrust  taking  me.  To  ascribe  her 
kindness,  and  the  interest  she  displayed  in  me,  ex- 
clusively to  my  own  merits  savoured  too  much  of 
conceit.  What  could  an  obscure,  lame  scholar,  such 
as  I,  matter  to  the  great  lady,  unless  she  had  some 
private  and  personal  end  in  view?  Reluctantly  I 
recalled  to  mind  my  dear  old  Master's  warning  be- 
fore I  left  Cambridge;  and,  later,  Mr.  Braith- 
waite's  warning;  Warcop's  warnings,  also.  Yet 
how  ungenerous,  how  grudging,  to  suspect  her  kind- 
ness! Has  not  a  high  authority  admonished  us  to 
**  think  no  evil  "  ?    But,  on  the  other  hand,  has  not 


no  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

the  highest  authority  of  any — I  say  it  with  all  rever- 
ence— bidden  us  add  something  of  the  serpent's  wis- 
dom to  the  harmlessness  of  the  dove? 

Oh  !  these  great  folk,  these  great  folk,  illiterate  as 
they  may  appear  from  the  scholar's  standpoint,  how 
amazingly  well  versed  in  practical  and  worldly 
knowledge,  what  past-masters,  astute,  invulnerable, 
in  that  fine  art  of  living,  of  which  he,  poor  blunder- 
ing innocent,  is  too  often  so  pitiably  even  disastrously 
ignorant ! 

If  the  above  was  too  harsh  a  judgment,  I  had  good 
reason,  before  the  end  of  my  second  summer  at 
Hover,  to  modify  it,  and  that  very  agreeably.  It 
happened  thus. 

August  had  come  round  again  and  grouse  shoot- 
ing along  with  it.  A  large  party  was  staying  in  the 
house;  and  Hartover  went  out  almost  daily  with  his 
father's  guests  upon  the  moors — Her  Magnificence 
and  the  ladies  driving  usually  to  meet  the  shooters 
at  some  picturesque  spot,  and  share  an  alfresco  lunch- 
eon with  them.  My  time,  consequently,  was  my 
own,  and — save  for  an  occasional  visit  to  Mere  Ban 
— I  spent  it  in  the  library. 

To  me,  one  afternoon,  there  entered  a  most  dis- 
tinguished looking  middle-aged  gentleman.  He 
made  one  or  two  inquiries  about  the  portion  of  the 
catalogue  upon  which  I  was  then  engaged,  and  we 
fell  into  a — to  me — most  delightful  conversation. 

How  charming  he  was — Alas  that  I  should  have 
to  say,  was!  Such  delicacy  of  taste,  such  variety  of 
information,  such  soundness  of  common  sense  guid- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  in 

ing  all;  and  such  sweetness  and  grace  of  manner  soft- 
ening and  gilding  all,  I  have  never  met  since,  save  in 
him  and  never  expect  to  meet  again. 

After  a  time  he  spoke  of  Hartover,  in  whom  he 
appeared  to  take  a  friendly  even  affectionate  interest. 
I  could  answer  frankly  and  hopefully,  for  in  the  last 
few  months  a  change  had  come  over  the  dear  lad. 
It  had  been  gradual,  but  continuous,  thank  God,  with- 
out lapses  or  back-sliding. 

My  new  acquaintance  listened  with  evident  pleas- 
ure. 

"  And  now,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  may  tell  you,  that 
I  have  examined  your  pupil  before  I  took  the  some- 
what unwarrantable  liberty  of  examining  you.  I 
wished  to  judge  of  you  by  what  you  had  done,  rather 
than  by  what  you  might  say.  And  I  must  compliment 
you,  my  dear  young  gentleman,  and  heartily  thank 
you — for  the  result.  I  found  lofty  and  liberal  senti- 
ments, where  I  expected,  from  past  experience,  mean 
and  grovelling  ones.  I  found  a  desire  for  knowledge 
and  for  usefulness,  where  I  expected  only  a  longing 
after  low  pleasures.  I  found  a  sense  of  his  position, 
where  I  had  expected  no  sense  at  all  save  the  fire  of 
sex  which  we  have  In  common  with  the  animals.  I 
congratulate  you  on  your  success  thus  far;  and  I 
trust  you  to  remember  this — that  if  you  want  sup- 
port In  your  good  work — as  you  may — you  have 
only  to  write  to  me,  freely  and  confidentially,  and 
what  I  can  do  I  will." 

I  bowed,  puzzled;  and  then  asked  the  plain  ques- 
tion which  had  to  be  answered. 


112  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

*'  And  to  whom  am  I  to  have  the  honour  of  ad- 
dressing my  letter,  in  such  a  case?  " 

He  smiled. 

"  I  had  forgotten  that  you  probably  might  not 
know  I  was  here." 

"  I  know  little  or  nothing  of  the  visitors.'* 

"  Write  me  at " — and  he  mentioned  a  place 

and  a  name,  hearing  which  I  grew  very  red  and  told 
him — 

"  I  had  no  idea,  my  lord,  that  I  had  the  privilege 
of  being  in  such  illustrious  company;  although  I  sup- 
pose I  ought  to  have  found  it  out  by  now  for  myself, 
were  I  not  the  unpolished  countryman  I  am." 

I  stood  by  sorely  embarrassed;  and  began  men- 
tally to  run  through  all  I  had  said,  or  mis-said,  to  a 
statesman  whose  name  was  in  all  men's  mouths  just 
then,  either  for  love  or  fear. 

He  was  too  simple,  or  perhaps  too  well  aware  of 
his  own  greatness,  to  enjoy  my  surprise;  and  offered 
his  hand  very  cordially,  saying — 

"  The  first  Lady  Longmoor,  your  pupil's  mother, 
was  a  kinswoman  of  mine — and,  I  may  add,  a  singu- 
larly gifted  and  exquisite  person.  Few  things  would 
give  me  deeper  pleasure  than  that  her  son  should 
grow  up  worthy  of  such  a  mother." 

With  that  he  left  me,  both  astonished  that  I  had 
been  talking  with  one  of  the  most  celebrated  Eng- 
lishmen of  the  time,  and  wondering  whether  I  had 
not  unwittingly  stumbled  upon  relics  of  some  early 
and  pathetic  romance  unsuspected  by  his  many  ad- 
herents and  admirers. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

But  there  were  things  I  had  to  know  which,  though 
they  are  written  in  books,  not  all  the  books  in  that 
glorious  library  could  teach  me.  I  must  seek  them 
elsewhere.  Through  his  growing  love  of  sport  I 
saw,  more  and  more,  I  could  hold  the  boy  and  keep 
him  from  craving  for  the  less  cleanly  and  whole- 
some forms  of  excitement  to  be  found  among  his 
stepmother's  maids  or  in  his  father's  cellars.  The 
second  I  had  almost  ceased  to  fear.  The  first  I 
feared  far  less  than  formerly;  but  handsome  Made- 
moiselle, unless  I  misjudged  her  strangely,  was  not 
the  young  woman  to  forego  a  purpose  once  formed 
without  a  struggle.  She  was  tenacious  as  she  was 
supple.  And  it  was  only  human  nature,  after  all, 
that  she  should  fight  tooth  and  nail  to  preserve  an 
Influence,  once  gained,  over  so  desirable  a  conquest 
as  Hartover.  Of  my  influence  over  him  she  must,  I 
felt,  be  jealous  most  exceedingly.  Wherefore  it  be- 
hoved me  to  be  on  my  guard;  and  let  slip  no  means, 
however  apparently  indirect,  of  securing  his  interest 
and  entertainment. 

To  this  end  I  learned  all  about  the  breeding  of 
horses  and  hounds  and  mastered  the  contents  of 
stud  books.  Whether  these  things  were  Important 
or  not  in  themselves,  they  were  important  to  me  be- 
cause of  the  boy.    Whether  I  cared  to  know  about 

113 


114  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

them  or  not  myself,  I  was  bound  to  know  more 
about  them  than  the  boy  knew.  So  I  read,  marked, 
learned,  and  inwardly  digested,  as  the  Collect  has 
it,  all  manner  of  equine  and  canine  lore  which  would 
have  been  as  so  much  Chinese,  so  much  Hottentot, 
indeed,  to  the  schools  or  common-rooms  of  my  dear 
alma  mater. 

And  this  brings  me,  by  devious  courses,  to  the  won- 
derful and  tragical  history  of  the  little  grey  fox  of 
Brocklesby  Whins. 

The  meet  was  at  Vendale  Green,  some  six  miles 
away  from  Hover — a  three-cornered  grass  common 
at  the  end  of  the  village  street,  with  scattered  cot- 
tages on  two  sides  of  it,  and  the  river  on  the  third. 
A  grey  day,  with  a  low  sky  and  mist  hanging  along 
the  edges  of  the  woodland.  The  air  very  still,  in 
which  sounds  carried  queerly. 

Her  ladyship,  wrapped  up  to  the  eyes  in  Russian 
sables,  had  driven  over  with  the  ponies.  She  sat  in 
the  pony-chaise  in  the  middle  of  the  green,  among  a 
crowd  of  men  in  pink,  and  the  horses  and  hounds,  a 
veritable  Queen  of  Beauty,  as  I  could  not  but  think, 
laughing,  chaffing,  with  a  gay  word  for  all,  gentle  and 
simple.  But,  just  as  we  were  about  to  throw  off, 
she  sent  her  little  groom  to  Colonel  Esdaile;  and, 
when  he  came,  stepped  out  of  the  carriage  and  stood 
by  him  for  a  minute.  She  glanced  at  Hartover,  and 
at  me;  and  spoke  quickly,  emphasising  what  she 
said  with  a  pretty  gesture  of  the  hand,  while  the 
colonel  leaned  down  to  her  from  the  saddle. 

Suddenly  I  saw  him  straighten  himself  up  with  a 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  115 

jerk,  his  face  oddly  aged  and  grey,  like  that  of  a  man 
smitten  by  illness. 

"  Impossible,"  he  said  sharply.  "  Utterly  impos- 
sible." Then  he  seemed  to  pull  himself  together. 
The  colour  came  back  into  his  face,  while  her  lady- 
ship, laughing  lightly,  stepped  into  the  pony-chaise, 
picked  up  the  reins,  and  drew  her  furs  about  her. 

"  As  you  please,"  she  called  after  him.  "  Good 
fortune  to  you — in  any  case.    Au  revoir! '' 

And  she  turned  the  ponies,  swinging  them  neatly 
through  the  fringe  of  the  crowd,  across  the  turf 
and  into  the  village  street  again. 

The  meaning  of  the  episode,  just  what  it  implied, 
just  what  passed  between  them,  I  do  not  know  to 
this  day;  but  that  it  thoroughly  upset  the  colonel's 
nerves  and  temper  was  only  too  apparent.  More- 
over, the  good  fortune  she  wished  him  proved  shy. 
All  the  forenoon  things  went  astray.  The  first 
covert  had  pigs  in  it,  and  that  vexed  him.  In  the 
next  Squire  Kenrick  was  shooting,  and  that  vexed 
him  more.  In  the  third  we  found  a  fox,  and  the  pack 
parted  and  chopped  it  at  once,  and  that  made  him 
mad.  He  rated  the  huntsman,  swore  at  the  whips 
and  at  things  in  general,  until  the  position  became 
distinctly  unpleasant.  It  was  nearly  three  o'clock 
by  that  time,  and  nearly  half  the  field  had  started 
home  in  high  dudgeon,  grumbling. 

Finally,  to  my  great  surprise  and,  I  must  own, 
anger,  he  turned  on  me  intimating  I  had  ridden  too 
forward  and  so  interfered  with  his  handling  of  the 
pack. 


:ii6  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  Ride  straight  if  you  can,  and  if  you  dare,  Mr. 
Brownlow,"  he  said.  "  Let  me  remark,  by  the  way, 
youVe  one  of  the  best  horses  in  the  stables  under 
you.  But,  in  God's  name,  when  I'm  drawing,  don't 
blunder  into  my  hounds.     Keep  your  place." 

It  was  a  lie  and  he  knew  it.  I  had  never  blun- 
dered into  the  hounds.  My  inclination  was  to  tell 
him  so  to  his  face.  But  why  make  a  scene  ?  He  had 
had  the  grace  to  speak  in  a  low  voice.  No  one  save 
Warcop,  who  was  beside  me,  could  have  heard  what 
he  said.  I  determined  to  bide  my  time,  and 
show  him,  before  the  day  was  over,  that  I  could 
ride  as  hard  and  as  straight  as  he  could  him- 
self. 

Now  where  should  we  try? 

"  Brocklesby  Whins,"  said  Colonel  Esdaile. 

"You'll  no  ken  Brocklesby  Whins?" — this  from 
Warcop,  at  my  elbow,  with  a  shrewd  and,  I  fancied, 
approving  glance.  "  Na — well,  it's  an  unholy  wild 
place,  top  o'  a  high  saddle,  wi'  just  a  few  ugly  firs 
standing  up  among  the  whins — where  a  man  was 
hanged,  they  say,  of  old — and  long  stone  walls  run- 
ning down  fra'  it  parting  the  pastures." 

"  There  was  a  rare  old  fox  in  there  on  Tuesday," 
said  Mankelow,  the  hard  riding  Irish  doctor  from 
Wetherley,  anxious,  as  I  thought,  to  keep  talk  going 
and  make  things  a  little  more  agreeable. 

"  And  one  we'd  best  let  alone,"  Godley,  the  hunts- 
man, put  in.  "  I  have  it  on  my  mind  that  he's  not 
over  canny.  If  he  were  a  warlock  out  of  the  vale  I 
should  not  wonder." 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  117 

Here  the  dear  boy,  riding  just  ahead  of  me, 
laughed. 

*'  Gad,  Rusher,'*  he  said,  "  give  us  another  chance 
at  him.  Four  times  we've  run  him,  and  four  times 
he's  lamed  us  a  good  horse,  and  vanished  like  magic 
at  last." 

'^  I've  a  feeling  about  that  fox  this  afternoon," 
Godley  went  on.  "  And  what's  worse  I  forgot  to 
take  off  my  cap  to  him,  and  we'll  have  no  luck  after 
that." 

The  boy  laughed  again. 

"  Get  along  to  Brocklesby,"  Colonel  Esdaile  said. 

It  would  take  too  long  to  recount  all  the  details 
of  that  historic  run,  though  it  is  still  toasted  at  hunt 
suppers  as  the  most  glorious  achievement  of  the 
Hover,  and,  I  own,  remembrance  of  it  stirs  my  blood 
even  yet. 

Suffice  it,  then,  to  say,  that  after  the  huntsman  had 
thrown  the  hounds  Into  the  gorse  and  Tom  the  sec- 
ond whip,  going  In  after  them,  had  bade  them  "  put 
him  up,  put  him  up  "  twice,  the  colonel  gave  a  screech 
which  might  have  been  heard  from  Hartover  to 
Vendale.  I  had  hung  back;  and  when  I  cleared  the 
lower  end  of  the  cover,  I  could  see  the  head  of  the 
pack  well  away  down  the  hill,  old  Challenger  lead- 
ing, with  the  colonel,  Mankelow,  Warcop,  and  the 
first  whip — the  huntsman  ranging  up  to  them.  The 
rest  of  the  field  were  away  to  my  left,  on  the  wrong 
side  of  the  wall,  and  the  wrong  side  of  the  burn 
which  ran  straight  down  from  the  gorse. 

At  last  the  hounds  checked  a  bit.    They  had  not 


ii8  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

settled  well  Into  their  fox  yet.  So  that,  determina- 
tion to  prove  myself — or,  shall  I  say,  to  show  off  ? — 
strong  In  me,  I  raced  down  abreast  of  them. 

"  Hullo,  Mr.  Brownlow,"  the  colonel  cried. 
''  Sorry  to  see  you're  out  of  It!  " 

I  made  no  answer,  but  turned  the  horse  twenty 
yards  back  Into  the  pasture  and  went  at  the  wall. 
He  was  one  of  the  best  In  the  stables  truly,  a  little 
brown  horse  with  a  tan  muzzle,  as  hard  as  Iron  and 
as  willing  as  the  wind.  The  wall  was  close  on  six 
foot  high,  and  I  knew  there  must  be  a  deep  drop  to 
the  burn  on  the  other  side;  but  the  devil  of  wounded 
pride  was  awake  In  me,  and,  to  my  shame,  I  did  not 
care  If  I  broke  my  neck  or  not.  They  all  looked  at 
me,  twenty  of  the  field  behind  me,  and  five  In  the 
pasture  In  front.  They  never  thought  I  should  dare 
It;  and  they  never  thought  I  could  do  It. 

The  brown  tipped  It  with  all  four  feet,  but  as  neat 
as  a  deer;  and,  when  he  saw  the  burn  beyond, 
stretched  himself  out  and  gave  a  spring. 

*'  Give  him  his  head,  sir,"  shouted  Warcop. 

And  so  I  did,  but  the  drop  was  so  deep  that, 
when  he  lighted,  he  went  head  over  heels,  and 
I  too. 

I  got  on  to  my  feet  and  picked  my  horse  up, 
though  aware  of  a  wonderful  singing  In  my  ears. 

There  was  a  cry  of — "  You're  not  hurt?  " 

''  Not  a  bit,"  I  told  them. 

"  No  one  can  say  that  young  gentleman's  afraid 
of  fences,"  quoth  the  doctor  genially. 

But  Colonel  Esdalle  answered — "  We  shall  see. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  119 

Temper  and  pluck  aren't  the  same  thing,  my  good 
friend." 

There  we  were,  six  of  us;  and  the  rest  of  the  field, 
for  the  time  being,  nowhere.  Then  the  fox  went 
down  Mr.  Bralthwalte's  lane,  and  we  went  down  the 
lane  too;  and  by  that  time  we  were  out  of  the  pas- 
tures and  into  the  vale.  Here  It  was  four  to  six 
miles  across — small  fallows  and  high  dykes,  with 
timber  and  rails  and  ''  all  manner  o'  harse-traps  " 
as  Warcop  had  It.  As  for  riding  straight,  no  man 
living  I  believe  could  have  done  so.  But  we  stuck 
together,  broke  the  rails  for  each  other,  turn  and 
turn  about,  though  riding  terribly  jealous;  and  each 
man  had  his  fall,  and  each  caught  his  neighbour's 
horse  for  him.  And  all  the  while — again,  more 
shame  to  me — I  nursed  my  anger  against  the  colonel, 
and  bided  my  time  till  I  could  be  even  with  him  and 
make  him  eat  those  ugly  words  about  pluck  and 
temper. 

At  last — and  we  were  not  sorry — we  had  a  check 
in  a  grass  field,  with  low  gorse-grown  banks  to  it  and 
a  certain  amount  of  cover  in  the  way  of  thorn  brakes 
and  withered  bracken.  The  steam  rose  in  a  white 
cloud  off  the  horses,  to  be  cleared  by  a  bleak  north- 
erly draw  of  wind  which  cried  now  and  again 
through  the  spare  grass  and  bare  branches. 

''  Well,  gentlemen,  this  Is  a  very  good  thing," 
Mankelow  said,  as  he  settled  himself — "  forty-two 
minutes  gone,  and  nine  miles  too,  if  I  know  my  coun- 
try; and  In  ten  minutes  more  he's  a  dead  fox.  I  hope 
to  righteousness  he  will  be,  for  my  shirt's  worked 


120  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

up  between  my  shoulders  and  I've  not  had  a  pinch 
of  snuff  since  I  started." 

"  A  very  good  thing,  as  afternoon  runs  are  wont 
to  be,"  Godley,  the  huntsman,  echoed.  "  And  may 
be  better  yet,  for  him  at  least.  For  as  to  his  being 
a  dead  fox,  we've  no  killed  the  vermin  yet.  An' 
there  he  is!  " 

Sure  enough,  stealing  back  into  the  cover  we  had 
just  left  was  a  little  grey  fox. 

"  I've  nere  seen  so  small  a  fox  before  nor  since, 
nor  one  so  grey,"  quoth  Warcop;  "  with  a  nose  like 
a  ferret's  on  to  him — no  canny  at  all,  looks  fifty 
years  old  for  aught  I  can  tell." 

He  saw  us,  moreover;  but  instead  of  slipping  on 
into  cover  and  making  good  his  point  home  again, 
as  any  decent  fox  would  have  done  after  doubling, 
he  sat  down  in  the  field  and  looked  at  us;  and  then, 
jumping  up,  went  back  upon  his  own  line,  as  if  he 
didn't  care  whether  he  ran  to  the  world's  end. 

What  work  we  had  to  get  the  hounds  on  to  him  I 
But,  when  we  capped  them,  it  was  heads  up  and  tails 
down  and  they  went  as  though  they  had  been  shot 
from  a  gun.  We  were  away  through  farm  and  farm, 
parish  and  parish — picking  up  some  of  the  field  on 
our  way — till  I  felt  as  though  I  had  been  in  the  sad- 
dle all  my  life  and  should  never  get  out  of  it.  Fal- 
low, pasture,  plough,  dale,  hedge,  dyke — the  same 
thing  all  over  again,  yet  new  each  time.  Then  at 
last  my  chance  came. 

We  had  got  out  into  big  lowland  grass  fields  once 
more.    The  colonel  and  I  were  leading.    I  raced  him 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  121 

over  a  meadow,  every  Inch,  up  to  a  brook,  and  over 
it,  and  on.  I  saw  a  nasty  fence  before  us — a  double 
rail  with  a  young  quick  hedge  in  the  middle,  and  be- 
yond it  a  road  some  four  feet  below.  The  road  was 
loose  and  stony  and  to  fly  the  thing  was  to  smash 
oneself  to  a  dead  certainty.  I  knew  I  was  going  too 
fast  for  in  and  out  leaping,  so  I  was  forced  to  gather 
up  the  brown  and  sore  work  I  had  to  do  it. 

The  colonel  held  on  at  full  speed,  and  was  five 
lengths  ahead  in  a  second.  I  thought  at  first  he  was 
going  to  sweep  over  the  whole.  But  no.  As  he 
neared  it,  I  saw  him  drop  into  his  saddle,  throw  him- 
self back,  and  exerting  his  huge  strength  in  one  long 
gentle  pull,  draw  his  great  bay  horse  together  till 
his  last  strides  were  like  the  skips  of  a  cat.  Then  a 
pause,  with  its  nose  almost  on  the  rail,  and  in  and 
out  into  the  road;  and  over  the  opposite  fence.  And 
there  the  colonel  turned  and  looked  at  me,  while  half 
a  dozen  voices  shouted — "  Nobly  done." 

I  was  all  the  madder;  but  I  kept  my  head.  I  knew 
how  the  brown  could  leap,  if  he  were  only  not  an- 
gered; and  by  the  time  I  got  him  up  to  the  rail,  he 
was  well  upon  his  haunches.  In  and  out,  and  over  I 
went  too,  and  half  a  dozen  more  voices,  from  the 
craners,  called — "  Hurrah — splendid,  Brownlow, 
Good  for  you,  sir.'' 


CHAPTER  XIV 

I  RANGED  Up  again  on  the  colonel's  quarter.  He 
looked  round. 

"You  got  over  after  all?"  he  drawled.  "I 
thought  you  seemed  funking  a  little." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  then,  sir !  "  said  I,  dryly. 

At  that  moment  I  heard  a  shout. 

I  knew  what  had  happened  by  instinct.  The  noise 
went  through  me  like  a  knife.  Where  was  Hart- 
over?  Where  had  he  been  all  this  while?  I  pulled 
the  brown  onto  his  haunches  with  a  force  which  threw 
me  on  his  neck — looking  round  for  the  dear  boy — 
lost  my  balance  and  rolled  off  Into  a  fallow. 

I  never  heeded;  but  sprang  to  my  feet,  ran  back 
wildly.  There  was  a  knot  of  men  and  horses  down  in 
the  road.    I  leapt  over  the  fence. 

"Let  me  come!  Let  me  pass!  Let  me  see!" 
said  I,  thrusting  through  them — though  dreading 
what  I  should  see. 

"You  ought  to  have  been  with  him,  sir!  "  cried 
an  old  pink.    "  You  ought  not  to  have  let  him." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it.  God  have  mercy  on  me !  " 
cried  I,  so  bitterly,  that  the  old  gentleman  laid  his 
hand  kindly  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Be  calm,  sir,  be  calm.  He  is  not  killed  " — But 
I  heard  no  more. 

The  boy  lay  in  the  road,  his  eyes  closed,  his  head 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  123 

on  Warcop's  knee.  Mankelow  knelt  beside  him, 
feeling  him  all  over  carefully.  Men  in  pink,  and 
steaming  horses  stood  around  in  the  grey  light  of 
the  December  day.  Overhead  a  flight  of  peewits 
flapped  with  their  oft-repeated  mournful  cry.  And 
I  suffered  an  anguish  of  self-reproach  and  of  fear, 
which  made  seconds  lengthen  out  into  hours  of  sus- 
pense and  mental  torture.  Vain  fool  that  I  had  been, 
nursing  my  own  wounded  pride,  self-absorbed,  for- 
getful of  love,  neglectful  of  duty! 

At  last  Mankelow  spoke. 

"  The  wind  knocked  out  of  him;  but,  thank  God, 
no  bones  are  broken.  Here,  gentlemen,  any  of  you 
got  some  brandy?  " 

A  dozen  flasks  were  held  out. 

"  Raise  his  lordship's  head  a  bit  higher — so — 
there — that's  better." 

By  now  I  was  kneeling  too,  helping  to  support  the 
boy.  With  a  gulp  and  struggle  he  swallowed  a  little 
of  the  brandy. 

His  eyes  opened.    He  looked  up  and  smiled  at  me. 

"What's  the  row,  dear  old  man?  Gad,  how  it 
burns  though.  What  the  deuce  are  they  doing 
to  me?" 

"  Pulling  you  back  over  the  border  for  all  we're 
worth,  my  lord,"  Mankelow  said  cheerily. 

As  to  me,  I  could  not  speak.  Nor  could  Warcop 
either.    Tears  were  running  down  his  cheeks. 

"Oh!  I'm  all  right,"  the  boy  said,  sitting  up. 
"  And  I'm  ashamed  of  wasting  your  time  and  spoil- 
ing your  sport  like  this,  gentlemen.    But  those  stones 


124  THE  TUTOR^S  STORY 

aren't  precisely  a  feather-bed  to  light  on  suddenly. 
Did  I  faint?  Really  I  beg  your  pardon.  For- 
give me." 

With  Warcop's  help  and  mine  he  got  onto  his  feet, 
though  still  evidently  somewhat  dazed  and  giddy. 

"What  had  he  better  do?"  I  asked  Mankelow, 
hurriedly. 

"  Just  what  he  likes.  Go  home  or  go  on — go  on,  I 
should  say,  if  his  horse  is  fit  to  carry  him." 

"Oh!  the  horse  is  fit  enough,"  someone  volun- 
teered— "  not  a  scratch  upon  him." 

"  What  will  you  do,  my  lord?  "  Warcop  asked. 

"  Why,  kill  that  demon  of  a  little  grey  fox  to  be 
sure,"  the  boy  answered,  laughing. 

"  'Ods,  well  spoken.  But  ye'll  ride  my  horse,  not 
your  own,  to  the  kill,  my  lord,  or  I  leave  your  service 
by  daybreak  to-morrow.  He  mayn't  have  a  scratch, 
but  he  needs  must  be  a  bit  stale  or  a  bit  skeery — 
safer  for  old  bones  like  mine,  which  have  been 
broken  too  often  to  break  any  more,  by  the  same 
token." 

And  so  it  was  settled.  But  the  pack  was  far  away 
by  this  time,  with  the  colonel,  the  two  whips,  and 
Godley.  The  sound  of  them  came  down  the  wind 
now  and  again;  and  we  saw  them  going  up,  up,  up, 
across  wide  rusty  pastures,  where  the  scent  lay  less 
heavy.  They  were  not  going  very  fast,  but  very 
steady;  swinging  right  and  left  over  the  turf,  and 
hanging  a  little  at  the  gaps  in  the  stone  walls  and 
ragged  blackthorn  hedges,  and  always  old  Chal- 
lenger led. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  125 

And  up,  up,  up,  we  went  after  them,  the  boy  riding 
gallantly,  quite  himself  again,  and  in  pretty  spirits, 
though  still  rather  white  in  the  face.  Towards  both 
Warcop  and  me  he  was  curiously  gentle  and  tender — 
which  filled  me,  only  the  more,  with  shame  and  self- 
reproach.  Up,  up,  up,  while  one  after  another  the 
field  dropped  away  from  us — Mankelow  held  out 
longest — till  only  we  three  were  left.  Up,  up,  up, 
still  gaining  on  the  pack,  which  was  going  slowly, 
although  there  seemed  to  be  no  check  in  them  yet. 
Then  for  five  minutes  would  come  a  rush;  and  each 
time  the  rush  came  we  could  see  the  horses  in  front 
of  us  were  the  worse  for  it.  But  they  pushed  on 
doggedly;  and,  for  some  reason,  the  colonel  never 
looked  back.  He  had  ridden  right  on  when  the  boy 
fell.  He  rode  right  on  still,  forcing  his  horse,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  rather  mercilessly.  Was  it  conceiv- 
able he  wanted  not  to  know  who  came  behind  him? 
That  he  was,  in  a  way,  afraid  to  look  back?  I  re- 
membered the  little  episode  on  Vendale  Green  in  the 
morning,  his  answer — "  Impossible,  utterly  impos- 
sible " — to  her  ladyship,  that  strange  look  as  of  sud- 
den illness,  and  her  ladyship's  light  laugh.  But  I 
put  remembrance  from  me.  It  could  do  no  good  to 
let  my  fancy  run  wild.  And  who  was  I,  after  all,  to 
judge  my  neighbour,  having  made  so  sorry  a  figure 
in  respect  of  plain  duty,  let  alone  affection,  myself? 

We  began  to  get  in  among  the  hills.  The  hounds 
ran  merrily  enough  up  a  gulley  on  our  right,  full  of 
ash  and  oak  scrub ;  and,  thanks  to  a  short  cut  of  War- 
cop's,  we  joined  them,  or  rather  they  swept  past  us, 


126  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

as  we  neared  the  top.  Then  we  were  out  on  the  open 
fell,  rattling  along  the  stone  tracks. 

The  horses  began  to  suffer  now.  The  colonel's 
big  bay  gave  in  first.  We  saw  his  gallop  fall  to  a 
canter,  his  canter  to  a  trot.  Then  the  first  whip's 
horse,  a  great  flea-bitten  grey,  stood  stock  still  in  a 
deep  bottom  and  he  had  to  get  off  and  lead  it  up 
through  the  heather.  And  then  the  huntsman's  black 
horse  went.  As  we  came  up  with  them  I  could  hear 
the  poor  beast  rattling  in  the  throat.  And  the  even- 
ing was  falling  fast;  and  still  the  colonel  did  not  look 
back. 

The  bay  had  slowed  down  to  a  walk.  He  stum- 
bled. Colonel  Esdaile  hauled  him  up,  flung  his  leg 
across  the  pommel  of  the  saddle  and  lighted  stiffly 
on  his  feet. 

"  Another  good  horse  gone,"  he  said. 

And  only  then,  deliberately,  as  if  making  a  great 
effort  over  himself,  he  turned  and  looked  at  us. 
Hartover  was  on  the  near  side  of  the  road,  I 
next  to  him,  and  Warcop  a  couple  of  lengths 
behind. 

The  colonel  left  the  bay  standing,  walked  across 
and  laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's  knee. 

"  George,"  he  cried  hoarsely,  "  George — I  did  not 
know  you  were  still  up !  " — and  his  voice  had  a  queer 
fall  and  break  in  it. 

"Why,  Rusher,  what's  the  matter?"  the  boy 
asked,  struck,  as  we  all  were  I  think,  by  the  strange- 
ness of  his  manner.  "  It's  not  like  you  to  be  so 
awfully  done." 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  127 

But  he  made  no  answer ;  only  presently  turning  to 
the  huntsman — 

*'  We  must  whip  off,"  he  said. 

"  We  must,  Colonel,  more's  the  pity.  This  is  the 
fifth  time  the  ungodly  vermin  has  brought  us  harm. 
He's  beat  us.    I  knew  he  would." 

"  Whip  off  ?  And  wha'  ull  do  it  ?  "  quoth  Warcop, 
pointing  to  the  long  line  of  white  specks  streaming 
over  the  fell. 

^'  I'll  try,"  Tom,  the  second  whip,  said  rather 
hopelessly. 

"  Yer  harse  Is  as  weak  as  a  two-day  littered  pup 
as  it  Is — and  gin  ye  fail — I " 

"  The  brown  would  do  It,"  I  cut  In.  "  There's 
plenty  left  in  him  yet.  Jump  on  him,  Warcop,  and 
see." 

I  was  in  the  act  of  slipping  off,  when  the  dear  boy 
shouted — "  No,  do  it  yourself." 

''  But  Warcop " 

"  I  say  do  It.    That  horse  Is  my  father's,  and  I 

say  no  one  shall  crop  him  to-day  but  you,  by " — 

and  he  swore  a  wicked  little  oath.  "  After  riding 
him  as  you  have  done,  you  shall  be  able  to  say  you 
stopped  the  Hover  when  no  man  else  could." 

"  That's  brave,"  cried  Warcop.  "  I'll  see  to  his 
lordship.  Here,  take  my  long  whip,  sir,  and  give 
the  brown  his  head.  And  as  you  love  your  life,  sir, 
beware  of  the  swallow-holes  way  up  top  o'  the  fell." 

I  turned,  as  in  courtesy  bound,  to  the  colonel  for 
his  sanction.  But  he  took  no  notice  of  me  or  of  any- 
one, standing  beside  his  panting,  sobbing  horse,  heed- 


128  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

less,  like  a  man  dumb  and  distraught,  staring  out 
over  the  mighty  expanse  of  moorland.  Wondering, 
I  inwardly  echoed  the  boy's  inquiry — what  ailed  him? 
With  his  splendid  endurance,  fruit  of  his  splendid 
health  and  strength,  it  passed  understanding  that  he 
should  be  so  beat. 

But  this  was  no  time  either  for  speculation  or  cere- 
mony; and  I  rattled  away  after  Tom,  who  was 
already  raking  up  the  hill;  overtook,  and  passed  him, 
in  the  deep  ling  and  moss ;  and  left  him,  tootling  dole- 
fully, far  behind. 

It  was  lighter  up  here.  I  looked  round.  Where 
was  I  ?  At  the  world's  end?  No,  rather  at  the  part- 
ing of  two  worlds,  on  the  very  roof  of  England. 
Below  me  a  network  of  green  valleys,  the  mist  lying 
in  soft  white  streaks  and  patches.  The  reek  of  great 
manufacturing  towns,  too,  dingy  sheets  of  coal 
smoke,  pierced  here  and  there  by  groups  of  tall  black 
chimneys,  like  the  masts  of  sunken  ships  piercing  the 
uneasy  surface  of  a  leaden  sea.  Beyond  all,  in  the 
west,  a  wide  flung  crimson  of  sunset,  against  which 
barriers  of  dun-coloured  vapour  rose,  slowly  eating 
it  up.  And  around  me,  for  miles  and  miles,  the 
grand  wind-swept  desolation  of  the  fells. 

I  could  almost  have  hoped,  just  then,  I  should 
fail  to  stop  the  pack.  For  I  longed  to  ride  on,  like 
some  legendary  Wild  Huntsman  of  yore,  for  ever 
and  ever;  poverty,  lameness,  all  earthly  ills  cast  be- 
hind me,  abolished  and  forgot. 

And,  at  the  moment,  my  hope  seemed  likely 
enough  of  fulfilment. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  129 

I  was  abreast  of  them  now,  ahead  of  them — I,  the 
quiet  scholar — rating,  hulloing,  cracking;  and  they 
minded  me  no  more  than  a  crow.  How  could  they 
mind'  me?  For  there,  not  fifty  yards  in  front, 
crawled  through  the  under  dusk,  beneath  a  stone 
wall,  a  small  grey  draggled  ghost — leapt  at  the  wall 
and  fell  back.  A  few  paces  to  the  left  was  a  gap.  I 
saw  his  dark  form  glance  through  it. 

I  remember  springing  off,  casting  the  brown  loose 
in  my  hurry,  and  scrambling  through  the  gap ;  to  find, 
behind  it,  a  wide  black  fissure,  like  a  hungry  ragged- 
lipped  mouth,  yawning  in  the  surface  of  the  moor. 
Down  it  the  fox  had  gone.  Down  it  the  hounds 
would  go  too,  unless  I  could  hold  them. 

And  the  foremost  were  upon  me  already — a  seeth- 
ing mass  of  black,  white,  and  tan,  of  red  jaws,  and 
white  teeth,  of  steam  and  rank  hot  smell.  I  faced 
them,  lashing,  shouting,  swearing  too,  I  am  afraid, 
like  any  drunken  bargee;  but  they  bore  on  me  with 
irresistible  weight,  driving  me  back  to  the  lip  of  that 
horrible  open  mouth,  and  over  the  lip,  falling,  fall- 
ing, along  with  me,  through  fathoms  of  chill  echoing 
dark — where  ? 

Almighty  God  alone  knew. 


CHAPTER  XV 

When  I  came  to  myself  I  was  lying  on  my  back, 
with  something  soft  and  warm  upon  me.  It  was  a 
hound,  and  alive.  I  thrust  him  off.  There  was 
something  soft  and  warm  under  me,  too,  heaving 
and  struggling. 

Gradually  I  became  aware  that  I  was  in  all  but 
utter  obscurity  among  a  heap  of  hounds.  My  first 
feeling  was  of  terror.  Would  they  attack  me? 
Hideous  thought,  to  be  torn  to  pieces  there  in  that 
dark  pit — and  if  one  began,  I  knew,  all  would  join. 
And  then,  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  my  soul. 

I  called  to  them,  by  all  their  names  which  I  could 
recollect,  cheerfully,  soothingly,  as  I  struggled  out 
from  among  them;  and  my  courage  rose  as  I  found 
them  peaceable.  Poor  beasts,  they  knew  my  voice; 
and  tired,  stunned,  terror-stricken,  let  me  drag  them 
up  one  by  one,  and  set  them  on  their  legs,  on  a  shelf 
which  seemed,  from  its  darkness,  to  be  the  mouth  of 
a  horizontal  cavern. 

Three  times  I  scrambled  from  that  shelf  down 
into  the  narrow  bottom  of  the  pit,  and  dug  out 
hound  after  hound.  I  recovered,  I  think,  seven. 
Two  were  dead.  One  had  its  leg  broke,  and  howled 
sadly  as  I  laid  hold  of  it.  I  got  my  handkerchief 
and  tied  it  up  all  in  the  darkness;  and  the  poor  thing 
licked  my  hand. 

130 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  131 

There  were  more  below;  but  they  were  jammed 
tight  and  motionless  in  a  narrow  cleft.  They  must 
be  dead.  I  hoped  they  were  dead.  I  stood  long 
bending  over  them,  touching  them,  to  watch  for  a 
struggle  or  a  moan,  but  all  was  still.  The  others 
moved  uneasily  about  the  ledge,  and  now  and  then 
gave  a  melancholy  howl,  which  was  answered  by 
their  brothers  in  the  open  air  some  thirty  feet,  as  I 
judged,  above. 

I  got  on  the  ledge  again  and  sat  among  them; 
looking  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  pit,  and  rating  back 
the  pack  when  any  of  them  seemed  disposed  to  leap 
down. 

I  was  not  frightened,  nor  unhappy,  except  about 
the  hounds.  But  I  had  saved  the  body  of  the  pack. 
Thank  God  for  that — for  was  it  not  worth  thanking 
God  for?  And  my  own  life  was  saved — thank  God 
for  that  also.  When  I  gazed  at  the  mouth  of  my 
dungeon,  now  scarcely  discernible  against  the  night 
sky,  it  seemed  little  sort  of  miraculous  that  I  should 
have  escaped. 

But  I  was  not  by  any  means  unhurt  Every  angle 
and  point  of  my  poor  bones  felt  knocked  off,  and 
ached  and  smarted  accordingly.  Moreover,  I  had 
certainly  broken  my  head;  for  I  found  that  I  had 
bled,  and  I  suspect  a  good  deal.  That  perhaps  did 
me  good,  and  brought  me  to  my  senses  In  time  to 
rescue  the  hounds.  I  was  fearfully  tired,  too,  both 
with  the  run,  and  with  the  violent  exercise  or  digging 
out  the  dogs;  and  as  hungry  as  a  man  should  be  after 
hunting.     Cold  I  was  not  and  had  no  fear  of  being; 


132  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

for  the  poor  dear  hounds  nestled  against  me,  keep- 
ing both  me  and  themselves  warm. 

I  sat  there  on  the  ledge,  my  feet  hanging  over,  for 
I  know  not  how  long.  The  hounds  above  had  been 
silent  for  some  time.  I  suppose  they  had  gone  away. 
Those  round  me  had  grown  silent  too.  There  was 
no  sound  save  the  crying  of  the  wind  over  the  fells, 
and  the  breathing  of  the  dogs  who  curled  off  to  sleep. 
I  only  wished  I  could  sleep  also;  but  I  ached  too 
much. 

I  amused  myself  by  speculating  where  the  pack 
would  go;  where  the  brown  horse  would  go;  where 
my  companions  were.  They  would  not  be  anxious 
about  me.  They  would  take  for  granted  that  I 
could  not  stop  the  pack,  that  it  had  gone  over  the 
fells,  and  that  we  were  all  happed  up  at  some  farm- 
house. They  would  shelter  at  some  farm-house 
themselves;  and  come  and  find  us  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. They  could  trace  us  easily  enough  by  the  hoof- 
marks — and  all  would  be  right. 

Then  I  began  thinking  about  Mr.  Braithwaite,  and 
our  talks  on  political  economy,  and  the  Poor  Law 
and  parliamentary  reform — and  about  Nellie.  And 
I  started;  for  I  heard  Nellie's  voice  call  me  by  name, 
so  plainly  that  surely  I  could  not  have  been  asleep? 

I  crawled  away  a  yard  or  two,  and  lay  down  on 
the  smooth  rock.  My  head  rested  against  the  rock- 
wall;  and  I  began  thinking,  thinking  again,  about 
Nellie,  about  the  dear  boy.  This  time  I  really  fell 
asleep,  and  slept  I  know  not  how  long. 

At  last  I  woke — an  evil  waking.    It  was  some  time 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  133 

before  I  could  recollect  where  I  was.  Gradually,  I 
became  conscious  of  a  sense  of  pain  from  head  to 
foot,  and  then  a  thirst.  Oh!  that  thirst!  It  ex- 
plained to  me  all  the  misery  of  which  I  had  read 
about  soldiers  waking  on  the  field  of  battle,  their 
wounds  aching  with  cold,  while  they  cried  in  vain  for 
a  drop  of  water  to  cool  their  tongues.  As  is  the 
case  with  the  strange  thirst  which  takes  one  after  a 
long  run,  it  soon  amounted  to  absolute  torment.  I 
must  unknowingly  have  moved  in  my  sleep,  for  my 
head  was  lying  on  something  cold  and  soft.  It  was 
a  dead  hound.  I  shuddered  at  first;  but,  when  I  felt 
his  skin  damp,  I  actually  put  my  lips  against  it  to 
cool  them. 

The  wind  above  on  the  moors  had  fallen,  and 
there  was  a  great  silence.  And  gradually,  out  of  the 
silence,  I  became  aware — or  was  it  only  my  fevered 
fancy? — of  a  sound  of  water  dropping.  I  listened 
till  I  was  sure.  What  more  common,  after  all,  than 
to  find  water  underground  in  such  a  pit,  whether  it 
be  coal-shaft  or  limestone  canyon? 

If  there  were  a  drop  within  reach,  I  must  win  it 
or  go  mad.  The  sound  seemed  to  come  from  behind 
me,  in  the  recesses  of  the  cavern  at  the  mouth  of 
which  I  believed  myself  to  be.  I  turned  to  creep 
onward.  Thoughts  of  choke-damp,  of  unknown 
abysses,  crossed  my  mind,  making  me  shudder  and 
pause.  But  only  for  an  instant.  The  terrible  thirst 
drove  men  on,  like  lo  driven  by  the  terrible  gadfly. 

I  crept  upon  hands  and  knees,  feeling  continually 
for  the  rock-wall  for  fear  of  losing  my  way.     As  I 


134  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

advanced  the  trickling  sound  grew  clearer  and 
louder,  and  my  heart  beat  high  with  hope.  I  must 
have  gone  full  forty  yards,  when  I  lost  touch  of  the 
rock-wall  on  my  left.  In  sudden  terror  I  tried  back, 
and  found  it  again.  I  made  out  that  it  turned  sharp 
away  almost  at  right  angles;  but  I  dared  not  leave  it, 
and  so  crawled  on  over  the  smooth  floor  of  rock. 

The  trickling  noise  was  behind  me  now,  growing 
fainter  and  fainter.  What  could  I  do  ?  Aching,  and 
all  but  exhausted  though  I  was,  I  faced  about  and  felt 
my  way  back  to  the  corner  again. 

The  problem  was  how  to  strike  out  from  the  wall 
without  losing  myself?  The  old  child's  story  of 
Tom  Thumb  came  into  my  head,  and  of  how  he 
found  his  way  home,  when  his  parents  left  him  in 
the  wood,  by  the  crumbs  of  bread  which  he  had 
strewed  along  the  path.  I  had  some  sandwiches;  but 
I  had  eaten  most  of  them  at  midday.  Never  spend- 
thrift searched  for  his  last  guinea  more  eagerly  than 
I  for  any  remains  of  that  meal !  I  found  some  scraps 
in  my  pocket,  and,  so  doing,  gave  a  feeble  hurrah 
which  boomed,  long  and  ghastly,  through  the  rough 
arches  of  the  doleful  place,  making  me  tremble  at 
my  own  voice.  Crumbling  up  the  scraps,  and  strew- 
ing them  sparingly  as  I  went,  I  launched  forth  into 
the  unknown  dark. 

I  crept  on,  I  know  not  how  far,  across  the  smooth 
floor,  which  from  the  feel  of  it  I  judged  to  be  of 
stalagmite.  The  trickling  noise  grew  louder  now; 
and,  mixed  with  it,  a  dull  roar,  as  of  water  falling 
into  a  pool  at  some  great  depth.     I  felt  in  vain  for 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  135 

any  damp  spot.  The  stalagmite  had  been  wet  enough 
once,  of  course,  but,  alas !  was  dry  as  marble  now. 

All  at  once  I  stopped,  with  an  emotion  of  horror. 
I  had  put  my  hand  forward,  as  usual;  but  I  put  it 
upon  nothing.  I  was  thoroughly  scared,  and  shrank 
back.  Alone  there  In  an  Invisible  chaos,  with  bruised 
limbs  and  overheated  brain,  a  hundred  strange  fan- 
cies assailed  me  before  I  hit  upon  the  truth.  I  was 
on  the  verge  of  an  unseen  gulf.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  about  it.  On  either  side  I  touched,  trembling, 
and  found  all  along  a  smooth  ledge  of  stalagmite 
and  then  empty  space.  Yet  just  beyond,  seemingly 
not  twenty  yards  from  me,  was  the  torturing  sound 
of  cool  water,  falling,  falling. 

Desperate,  I  leant  over,  and  thrust  my  arm  down 
as  far  as  I  could  reach  in  hopes  of  finding  some  ledge 
onto  which  I  might  lower  myself.  There  was  none. 
The  edge  of  stalagmite  curled  over  In  a  deep  rim. 
And  I  could  hear  plainly  now,  as  I  bent  my  head 
down,  the  sound  of  a  running  stream  perhaps  a  hun- 
dred feet  below. 

What  If  the  crust  broke  off?  What  if  I  slipped 
forward?  Panic-stricken,  I  tried  to  move  back; 
and  found  It  not  so  easy.  For  the  surface  of  the 
floor  was  so  even  I  could  obtain  no  hold.  I  lost  my 
nerve  utterly,  almost  lost  my  recollection. 

After  a  minute's  frenzied  struggle,  however,  I  was 
safe,  and  making  my  way  back  along  my  line  of 
crumbs.  It  seemed  an  age  ere  I  reached  the  rock- 
>vall  again.  And  when  I  reached  It,  I  could  do  no 
more ;  but  sank  down  too  exhausted  to  move. 


136  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

After  that  confusion  grew  on  me.  Cruel  fantastic 
dreams  or  visions — I  know  not  which,  for  I  cannot 
tell  whether  I  slept  or  woke — pursued  me.  Now 
Hartover  lay  in  the  stony  road  again,  white,  with 
closed  eyes;  and  Mankelow,  bending  over  him, 
whispered  that  he  was  dead.  Now  I  wandered 
across  green  fields  by  a  pleasant  brook,  and  Nellie 
Braithwaite  came  to  meet  me  through  the  damp 
sweet  grasses,  a  cup  of  clear  spring  water  in  her 
hand.  Now  I  was  at  Cambridge,  in  the  staid  and 
familiar  routine  of  the  university  once  again.  And 
now  the  hounds  roused  up,  clamouring  and  hungry. 
They  were  eating  their  dead  brothers  first,  and  next 
they  would  eat  me.  And  I  was  bound  hand  and  foot 
so  that  escape  was  impossible.  Again  I  saw  their  red 
jaws  and  white  gleaming  teeth,  and  smelt  the  rank 
hot  smell  of  them.  But  Nellie  Braithwaite  came  be- 
tween them  and  me,  and  drove  them  off,  and  laid  her 
hand  upon  my  parched  forehead — so  cool  it  was ! 
And  now  the  dear  boy  was  with  her.  The  two 
walked  past  me,  hand  in  hand,  talking  earnestly  and 
smiling  on  one  another  with  a  certain  sweet  serious- 
ness infinitely  lovely,  and  went  forward  into  the 
deeper  darkness  of  the  cave.  I  knew  they  would 
reach  the  edge  of  that  smooth  deceitful  stalagmite 
floor  and  topple  into  the  abyss.  I  tried  to  warn  them, 
called  and  shrieked  to  them;  but  my  voice  was  no 
more  than  the  thinnest  thread  of  sound  which  they 
did  not,  could  not,  hear. 

After  that,  I  know  not  what.  Deepening  confu- 
sion, tumult,  sense  of  fruitless  effort,  of  swift  para- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  137 

lysing  fear.  But  through  it  all,  three  images  were 
constantly  before  me  during  that  terrible  night — 
water,  Nellie  Bralthwalte  and  always  with  her  Hart- 
over,  the  gallant  beautiful  boy — till,  merciful  stupor 
closing  down  on  me,  I  lapsed  into  unconsciousness 
once  more. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

What  was  this  sound  beating  upon  my  weary  brain, 
dragging  my  reason  and  senses  up  from  some  meas- 
ureless depth,  back  from  some  measureless  distance? 
Men's  voices  and  the  baying  of  hounds.  At  last  a 
call  I  could  not  mistake,  friendly  and  clear  yet  sol- 
emn, awe-stricken. 

"  Speak,  in  God's  name,  gin  there's  any  living  soul 
within!  " 

I  opened  my  eyes  and  feebly  answered  Warcop's 
hail.  From  the  glimmering  light,  In  the  direction 
whence  his  voice  came,  I  understood  It  must  be 
broad  day  at  the  cavern's  mouth.  I  tried  to  crawl 
towards  it;  but,  before  I  was  half-way,  I  saw  the 
glow  of  a  red  coat  and  felt  strong  arms  about  me. 
Warcop,  stooping  under  the  low  rock-roof,  lifted  and 
carried  me  as  tenderly  as  though  I  had  been  his  own 
child. 

"  Puir  laddie,  puir  laddie !  Ye've  had  a  sair 
enough  night  o'  It,  I'll  warrant." 

"  But  I  stopped  them — I  saved  the  pack,"  I  told 
him. 

"  Did  ye  then?  Eh!  but  I  kenned  ye  were  worth 
yer  saut  " — soothingly. 

"  Water."  I  Implored  him.  "  Water — and  give 
the  hounds  some  too." 

Then  I  believe  my  mind  wandered.  The  transi- 
tion was  so  rapid.    The  relief  so  great. 

138 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  139 

Water  they  had  none.  But  someone  gave  me 
sherry;  and,  after  a  while,  I  revived,  to  find  the  dear 
boy  hugging  and  kissing  me,  and  crying — bless  his 
heart — like  a  baby. 

I  looked  about  me.  The  scene  was  a  strange  one. 
An  irregular  patch  of  blue  sky  far  away.  Towering 
walls  of  stained,  grey  rock  on  either  hand;  and  let, 
as  down  a  well,  by  ropes  from  above,  standing  amid 
debris  of  torn  heather  and  gorse  and  fragments  of 
fallen  stone,  the  hounds  leaping  round  them,  War- 
cop,  Hartover,  Godley  the  huntsman,  and,  last  but 
by  no  means  least.  Colonel  Esdaile  himself.  The 
queer  mood  of  yesterday  had  passed  from  him.  His 
handsome  face  was  eager,  his  eye  bright.  Very  cor- 
dially he  shook  me  by  the  hand. 

"  An'  he  saved  the  pack,  he  says,"  Warcop 
cried. 

"  Yes,  I  got  through  the  gap  just  in  time,  and 
stopped  them.  But  the  leading  hounds  pushed  me 
over  and  In " 

"  There,  don't  talk,"  the  colonel  said  kindly. 
"  But  I  thank  you,  sir,  I  thank  you." 

I  was  excited  and  not  easily  to  be  silenced. 

"  Dig,"  I  told  them,  "  dig.  There  are  two  more 
down  there  in  the  pit,  just  at  your  feet.  I  could  not 
get  them  out.  I  dug  out  the  rest  " — and  I  looked  at 
my  swollen  disfigured  hands. 

They  got  to  work  and  brought  out  tw^o  bodies. 

"  Marchioness  and  t'  owd  Challenger — and  t'  fox 
in  his  mouth  yet !  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said.     "  He  was  down  first.     He  leapt 


I40  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

under  my  arm.  Oh!  my  God,  It  was  dreadful, 
dreadful." 

And,  fairly  overcome  at  remembrance  of  that  grim 
struggle,  I  covered  my  face  with  my  hands.  If  the 
boy  had  not  been  there  I  should  have  broken  down 
altogether.  When  I  opened  my  eyes  again,  Godley 
was  holding  up  the  poor  old  badger-pie  with  the  fox 
still  clenched  in  his  noble  jaws.  Suddenly  he  laid  the 
dead  hound  down  and  burst  out  crying. 

"  Ah !  sir,  that  was  a  hound !  " 

"  Well,  he  died  as  he  lived,"  said  the  colonel,  and 
turned  his  head  away.  I  believe,  at  the  moment, 
there  was  not  a  dry  eye  among  them. 

*'  You  must  see  to  my  old  man,"  the  boy  cried  Im- 
patiently. "  He's  ill,  worn  out.  You  must  get  him 
out  of  this  infernal  hole.    Draw  him  up  at  once." 

And  drawn  up  I  was,  and  seated  in  the  delicate 
winter  sunshine  and  fresh  air,  upon  the  heath — 
where  I  turned  off  faint  again  and  called  for  water. 
They  got  me  some  from  a  neighbouring  bog — foul 
brown  stuff,  but  never  was  draught  more  delicious. 

Then  they  hauled  up  the  hounds,  quite  gentle  but 
too  stiff  and  bruised  to  walk. 

"  Carry  them  to  the  water,"  I  begged.  "  They're 
dying  of  thirst  like  me." 

Some  farm  men  shouldered  them;  and  I  lay  with 
my  head  on  Hartover's  knee,  and  watched  the  poor 
beasts  lapping  and  rolling  In  a  bog  hole,  with  a  sort 
of  dreamy  happiness. 

'*0h,  my  dear  old  man,  what  I  have  gone  through 
about  you  1  " 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  141 

"Why?  You  should  have  taken  for  granted 
that  I  was  safe  at  some  farm-house." 

"  But  I  did  not — I  could  not !  I  heard  Warcop 
warn  you  about  the  swallow-holes  when  you  started, 
and  I  knew  you  had  fallen  Into  one.  And  I  never 
slept  a  wink  all  night.  I  fancied  I  heard  you  call- 
ing me." 

"  What  would  you  have  done,  if  I  had  been 
killed?"  I  asked,  I  know  not  why,  looking  up  into 
his  face. 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  minute. 

"  Died,  I  hope." 

"  You  must  not  talk  so." 

"  I  should  have  turned  again  into  the  blackguard 
I  was  six  months  ago.  And  I  had  rather  be  dead 
than  that." 

"  You  must  not  talk  so,  dear  boy,"  I  repeated 
feebly.     "  You  must  trust  in  God,  not  in  me." 

But  I  felt  then  that  I  had  not,  indeed,  lived  in 
vain. 

The  hounds  were  buried  honourably  where  they 
fell.  Then  the  huntsman  brought  the  fox  up  to  the 
colonel. 

"And  what  shall  I  do  with  this  uncanny  devil?  '' 
And  he  shook  him  with  rage  as  he  spoke.  "  Five 
runs  he  has  given  us,  and  lamed  our  best  horses  every 
time ;  and  this  is  his  last  trick,  and  his  worst.  I  be- 
lieve he  is  no  fox,  but  a  witch,  sir.  That's  my  creed, 
and  we'll  hear  presently  of  some  old  woman  having 
vanished  out  of  the  vale.  We'll  have  the  brute's 
trimmings  anyhow !  " 


142  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

And  he  went  to  take  out  his  knife. 

"  Stop,"  cried  the  colonel.  "  Don't  touch  him. 
Mr,  Brownlow,  I  shall  have  that  fox  stuffed,  and  give 
it  to  you,  as  a  remembrance  of  this  day.  And  I  want 
one  word  with  you,  sir.  No,  don't  get  up — -George 
may  hear  me.  I  was  rude  to  you  yesterday  and  more 
than  rude;  and  you  have  repaid  me  by  risking  your 
life  to  save  my  pack.  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  never 
did  so  to  any  man  on  earth — but  I  say,  sir,  I  beg  your 
pardon." 

I  held  out  my  hand  and  tried  to  laugh. 

*'  My  dear  sir,  I  was  vain  and  foolish — and  not  for 
the  first  time, — I  irritated  you.  Pray  do  not  speak 
of  such  a  trifle.  As  for  saving  the  hounds,  it  was  only 
one's  duty." 

The  Rusher  looked  at  me  fixedly. 

''  I  will  say  one  thing  more,  Mr.  Brownlow." — He 
had  quite  dropped  his  usual  fine  gentleman  drawl. — 
"  When  you  first  came,  you  used  to  talk  a  good  deal 
about  duty." 

''  A  good  deal  too  much,  I  fear,"  said  I,  recollect- 
ing my  pedantry. 

"  I  used  to  think  it  all  cant.  I  understand  now 
what  you  meant  by  duty;  and  am  much  obliged  to 
you  for  teaching  me." 

And  he  turned  away,  after  shaking  me  again  by 
the  hand. 

They  took  me  down  upon  a  pony;  and  as  I  went,  I 
heard  all  their  story.  When  I  did  not  return,  they 
had  attempted  to  follow;  but  had  been  driven  back 
by  mist  and  darkness.     The  boy  had  contrived  to 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  143 

make  Warcop  share  his  own  fears  about  swallow- 
holes;  and  when  they  started  from  Squire  Kenrick's 
— where  they  had  passed  the  night — Warcop  pressed 
into  their  service  two  or  three  labouring  men,  with 
ropes,  a  spade  and  crowbar.  They  had  found  us 
easily  enough.  Some  of  the  hounds  had  come  down 
by  Squire  Kenrick's  house  the  night  before.  Others 
were  heard  of  in  the  morning.  The  hoofs  of  the 
brown  horse  led  them  easily  over  the  fells.  Soon 
they  saw  him  grazing,  stiff,  but  well.  After  that  the 
hoof-marks  led  them  on,  wherever  I  had  crossed  a 
boggy  or  muddy  spot,  straight  to  the  gap.  And — 
"  ere  we  came  to  it,"  Warcop  said,  "  t'  puir  hounds 
began  calling  to  us  like  Christian  bairns." 

So  ended  the  wonderful  little  grey  fox  of  Brock- 
lesby  Whins.  He  stands  to  this  day  stuffed  in  my 
study;  and,  as  I  look  at  him,  I  often  thank  him  for 
his  good  deeds  to  me.  For  that  hunting  had  its  con- 
sequences. It  made  a  fast  friend  of  the  colonel,  who 
— so  I  found  afterwards — went  about  extolling  me 
(I  cannot  see  why)  as  a  miracle  of  valour  and  virtue. 
And  a  fast  friend,  also,  of  all  connected  with  the 
hunt,  from  Sir  Rodney  Pochard,  of  racing  fame, 
down  to  the  grooms  and  stable  helpers. — These  last 
so  overloaded  me  with  praise,  that  I  was  forced  to 
beg  them  to  say  no  more  about  the  matter.  I  had 
done  nothing  but  what,  I  felt  sure,  any  and  every  one 
of  them  would  have  done  in  my  place — a  sentiment 
which,  at  least,  comforted  the  good  fellows'  self- 
esteem. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

But  the  most  surprising  consequence  of  my  adven- 
ture manifested  itself  next  day  when — as  I  sat  dis- 
figured and  aching,  bandaged  and  plastered,  feeling 
as  if  I  had  not  a  whole  bone  in  my  wretched  carcass 
— I  heard  a  gentle  rap  at  the  study  door  and,  to  my 
amazement,  Her  Magnificence  walked  in. 

It  was  the  first  time,  as  far  as  I  could  recollect,  she 
hafl  entered  that  room  for  over  a  year,  yet  she  came 
in  as  naturally  as  though  she  was  there  every  day; 
and,  smiling,  pulled  up  a  chair,  sat  down  by  the  fire- 
side and  inquired  after  me  with  most  engaging  solici- 
tude.— "  Was  I  much  hurt?  What  a  truly  frightful 
experience!  Had  I  everything  I  needed?  Quite, 
quite  sure?  And  were  the  servants  attentive,  really 
taking  proper  care  of  me?  " — Then  followed  an  out- 
burst of  extravagant  compliment — rank  flattery,  I 
ought  to  label  it;  but,  delivered  so  gracefully,  with 
such  a  bewitching  air  of  sincerity,  that  I  tried  to  per- 
suade myself  it  was  not  the  delicious  poison  I  very 
well  knew  it  to  be.  And  so,  like  any  other  young 
man  cajoled  by  a  beautiful  woman,  I  absorbed  it 
greedily,  murmuring  clumsy  thanks,  angry  with  my- 
self, the  while,  that  I  could  not  find  a  hundred  and 
one  pretty  nothings  to  say  to  her  in  return. 

But  our  interview  did  not  end  there.  Having  thus 
144 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  145 

softened  the  ground  with  this  rain  of  compliment, 
she  went  on  to  far  more  serious  subjects. 

*'  How  could  they  ever  repay  me  for  all  I  had 
done  for  dear  George  ?  Everyone  was  talking  of  the 
improvement  in  his  habits  and  character,  in  his  very 
countenance.  It  was  delightful,  and  made  her  think 
with  real  pain  of  the  time  when — as  she  supposed — 
we  should  be  obliged  to  part,  and  dear  George  go 
into  the  Guards." 

I  gave  a  start. 

"  I  trust  that  day  may  be  very  distant." 

She  had  hoped  so  too ;  but  my  lord  felt  it  to  be  the 
right  thing.  "  As  you  know,  Mr.  Brownlow,  his 
father  very  seldom  Interferes — perhaps  it  would  have 
been  better  " — and  she  sighed — "  if  he  had  inter- 
fered more  often.  His  wretched  state  of  health! — 
But  when  he  does  give  an  order,  naturally  It  has  to  be 
obeyed." 

She  paused  for  my  assent.  Rightly  or  wrongly, 
my  suspicions  began  to  be  aroused.  I  made  no 
reply. 

"  And  George  himself,"  she  continued,  "  is,  I 
understand,  so  anxious — he  and  his  father  really 
agree  for  once,  I  gather  " — with  a  meaning  smile  and 
raising  of  the  dark  eyebrows — "  that  I  am  afraid 
he  must  join  his  regiment  next  spring." 

^'  Next  spring!  "  I  cried,  with  a  very  blank  face. 
The  blow  was  such  an  unexpected  and  heavy  one. 

*'  As  for  yourself,  dear  Mr.  Brownlow,"  she  said 
eagerly,  "  you  must  not  think  it  will  lessen  our  Inter- 
est in  your  future,  or  make  anything  but  an  improve- 


146  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

ment  in  your  position.  We  know  from  Dr.  Mars- 
ton  all  about  your  leaving  college.  And  I  have  told 
my  lord — who,  I  am  happy  to  say,  feels  with  me — 
that  the  least  we  can  do,  after  all  you  have  done  for 
us,  is  to  enable  you  to  return  to  Cambridge  and  take 
your — degree — don't  they  call  it?  " 

"  Oh!  you  are  too  kind,  too  kind — but " 

'*  We  can  listen  to  no  buts.  Of  course  we  should 
have  liked  to  keep  you  here  as  librarian;  only  that 
would  be  selfish.  No,  clearly  you  must  return  to 
Cambridge  and  complete  your  course  there.  And 
then,  later,  if  you  went  into  the  Church,  you  know, 
directly  one  of  our  livings  fell  vacant  you  may  be 
sure  there  is  no  one  we  should  think  of  sooner  than 
you." 

"Oh!  madam,"  I  cried,  greatly  affected  by  the 
secure  and  prosperous  future  thus  opened  before  me, 
"  you  are  too  good,  too  generous.  Yet  I  shall  deeply 
regret  leaving  Hover,  not  only  on  my  own  account 
but  on  Lord  Hartover's." 

"  He  will  have  cause  to  regret  it  also.  But  he 
must  grow  up,  he  must  enter  on  life,  poor  dear  fel- 
low." 

"  That  is  what  I  dread.  I  cannot  but  feel  he  Is 
too  " — I  was  going  to  say  weak,  but  stopped  myself 
— "  hardly  old  enough  to  face  the  many  temptations 
of  such  a  life  and  profession.  Not  that  I  am  vain 
enough,  believe  me,  to  imagine  my  presence  is  neces- 
sary to  keep  Lord  Hartover  out  of  harm.  Any  good 
tutor — and  you  can  find  twenty  better  than  I — could 
do  that.    But  the  life  of  a  young  Guardsman  in  Lon- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  147 

don — you  do  not  know,  madam,  what  it  is,  and 
must  be." 

She  moved  a  little,  leaning  forward  and  raising 
her  hand  to  shield  her  face  from  the  fire  which 
played  on  her  jewelled  bracelets  and  rings.  I  seemed 
to  catch  a  lurking  laughter  in  her  downcast  eyes,  that 
said — so  I  interpreted  it  at  least,  by  later  events — "  I 
know  infinitely  better  than  you,  in  any  case,  my  inno- 
cent and  worthy  youth !  "  But  she  answered  with  a 
demure  sigh — she  could  be  so  deliciously  demure 
when  she  chose — 

"  Ah !  yes,  I  have  often  put  that  before  my  lord 
very  strongly — not  that  I,  of  course,  as  you  say,  know 
anything  about  such  matters;  except  that  young  men 
in  town  are  very  foolish  and  do  very  shocking  things 
sometimes.  But  my  lord's  mind  is  so  thoroughly 
made  up  on  the  subject." 

"  I  wonder,"  I  said  quite  bitterly,  "  that  Mr.  Hali- 
dane,  who  has,  as  I  understand,  so  much  influence 
over  his  lordship  in  religious  questions,  does  not  lay 
before  him  the  great  danger  to  which  his  son  is  ex- 
posed by  this  resolution." 

"  Would  you  kindly  speak  to  Mr.  Halidane  your- 
self about  it?  "  said  she. 

I  felt  what  a  clever  fence  her  answer  was;  and 
could  only  reply,  that  I  feared  that  my  words  would 
have  very  little  weight  with  him. 

"  Oh!  you  underrate  yourself,  as  usual.  You  are 
not  aware — and  really  it  is  better  you  should  not  be 
or  you  might  become  quite  alarmingly  powerful — 
of  the  amount  of  influence  you  gain  over  everyone. 


148  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

Even  over  Colonel  Esdaile,  whom  you  seem  to  have 
completely  won  at  last.  And,  I  must  confess  it,  over 
me,  as  well." 

"Over  you,  madam?"  I  said,  in  a  tone  which 
hardly  concealed  reproach  for  her  flattery. 

"Well — why  not?  Your  influence  over  me  is  a 
perfectly  simple  and  harmless  one.  You  are  so 
different  from  the  rest  of  the  people  round  me. 
Whoever  is  not  honest,  you  are;  and  it  is  so  pleas- 
ant— so  pleasant  and  so  new — to  have  someone 
in  this  house  whom  one  can  trust  to  tell  one  the  real 
truth." 

And  she  gave  me  one  of  those  glances  by  which 
she  knew  so  well  how  to  pour  fire  along  young  veins. 

"  And  therefore — since  I  know  I  can  have  perfect 
faith  in  you,  dear  Mr.  Brownlow — I  have  long 
wanted  to  say  something  to  you  which  you  will,  of 
course,  never  repeat — not  even  to  George.  Really, 
I  hardly  like  to  talk  about  it  even  to  you;  but  you 
must  see,  by  this  time,  how  I  am  circumstanced.  My 
poor  dear  lord — you  know  I  can  hardly  consult  him 
— alas! — And  Colonel  Esdaile — he  is  the  best  and 
simplest-hearted  of  creatures — but  he  has  his  own 
easy  Guardsman's  view  of  such  things — so  very  dif- 
ferent from  yours.  And  so  " — she  leaned  more 
towards  me — "  I  really  have  no  one,  in  this  matter, 
to  ask  to  help  and  counsel  me  except  yourself." 

"  Why  not  consult  Mr.  Halidane?  "  I  asked,  try- 
ing to  keep  my  head  under  this  shower  of  appeal  and 
of  sudden  intimacy.  For  my  heart  misgave  me 
that   something   was   coming,    which   it   would   tax 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  149 

all  the  brain  I  possessed  to  meet  and  to  deal  with. 

My  lady  sat  upright,  with  a  pretty  air  of  Indiffer- 
ence. 

"  Oh !  Mr.  Halldane  Is  a  most  admirable  man/' 
she  said.  "  So  perfectly  pious,  you  know,  and  excel- 
lent." 

I  observed  that  In  words,  at  all  events,  she  In- 
variably upheld  that  somewhat  dubious  personage. 

"  But  to  tell  you  the  truth — since  you  are  in  the 
habit  of  telling  It  yourself  " — here  another  capti- 
vating smile  made  Its  appearance — "  In  some  ways  I 
am  just  a  wee  bit  afraid  of  him.  He  might  not  quite 
— quite  understand  somehow,  you  know.  And  so,  as 
I  say,  I  have  no  one  to  turn  to  but  you.  By  myself,  I 
dare  not  act.  It  might  make  quite  unnecessary  disa- 
greeables and  complications.  You  see,  I  was  married 
very  young,  Mr.  Brownlow — as  a  mere  child  In  fact. 
I  am  little  better  than  a  child  even  now,  I  am  afraid, 
In  many  respects.  I  have  had  very  little  experience 
of  the  world,  owing  to  my  poor  husband's  wretched 
health,  which  makes  him  practically  a  recluse.  And 
I  had  hardly  any  education.  My  mother — Ah!  I 
am  sure  you  are  In  pain?  " 

''  If  I  were,  you  would  make  me  forget  It,"  I  said, 
half  Intoxicated  by  her  sudden  confidence. 

I  did  not  know  then  how  little  such  confidences  are 
worth.  How  women  of  the  world  will  make  them  to 
men,  whom  they  do  not  look  upon  as  their  equals  but 
merely  as  their  tools,  partly  to  gain  power  over  them, 
and  partly,  I  believe,  for  the  pleasure  of  talking 
about  themselves.     Perhaps,  poor  things,  there  may 


I50  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

be  an  honest  relief  in  opening  their  hearts  to  some- 
one who  is  clever,  and,  as  they  fancy,  less  sophisti- 
cated than  themselves.  Anyhow,  this  was  not  the 
last  of  such  strange  confidences  which  I  received  from 
her  and  from  other  fine  ladies  also. 

"  I  had  so  little  education,"  she  repeated.  **  I 
often  envy  you  your  scholarship,  and  all  the  delight- 
ful intellectual  society  which  you  must  have  enjoyed 
at  Cambridge.  I  believe  I  should  have  been  very 
blue  myself  if  I  had  only  had  the  opportunity." 

The  naughtiest  temptation  came  over  me  to  make 
some  pretty  speech,  which  would  delude  her  into  the 
notion  that  she  was  deluding  me.  But,  happily  for 
my  honesty,  the  speech  was  so  slow  in  shaping  itself 
that  she  had  run  on  again  before  I  could  bring  it 
forth. 

''  And  so  I  have  had  only  one  weapon  to  defend 
myself  with,  in  all  I  have  gone  through — for  I  have 
gone  through  a  great  deal,  Mr.  Brownlow — and  that 
has  been,  to  be  perfectly  straightforward,  and  hon- 
ourable, to  speak  the  exact  truth,  and  to  cling  to 
those  who  are  straightforward  also.  I  only  wish  I 
never  met  any  other  sort  of  people !  Therefore — 
and  now  I  really  must  tell  you — I,  too,  wish  George, 
dear  beautiful  boy,  to  leave  home.  Not  because  I 
wish  to  see  him  in  the  Guards,  of  course;  but  because 
— because — I  am  afraid  there  are  certain  influences 
at  home  which  are  quite  as  dangerous,  and  really  may 
be  more  so,  than  any  London  ones.  What  do  you 
think  about  Mademoiselle  Fedore?  " 

I  thanked  Heaven  I  had  not  lost  my  head.    Here 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  151 

was  a  snare  Indeed !  How  I  discerned  It  I  can  hardly 
tell — certainly  by  no  native  wit  of  my  own.  But,  I 
suppose,  that  passion  for  the  boy  and  his  welfare 
which  had  become  the  fixed  Idea  of  my  life,  made 
me  as  suspicious  and  quick  to  discern  the  approach  of 
peril,  as  Instinct  makes  the  mother-bird.  And  at 
once  I  saw — or  thought  I  saw — peril  at  hand.  What 
if  she  should  make  use  of  anything  I  told  her,  to 
raise  a  storm  In  Lord  Longmoor's  breast  against  the 
poor  tempted  lad?  And,  even  If  she  were  not  base 
enough  for  that,  by  betraying  my  verdict  to  Halldane 
she  might — would  certainly — do  the  evil  work  still 
more  effectually.  Or — almost  worse  of  all — she 
might  betray  It  to  the  boy  himself,  and  lose  me  his 
trust  for  ever.  No.  I  would  tell  her  nothing,  even 
though  I  had  to  He  to  conceal  It;  and  so  I  answered, 
as  In  real  astonishment. 

*' Mademoiselle  Fedore,  madam!  She  is  your 
ladyship's  maid,  I  believe?" 

"  Yes,  yes.  What  do  you  know  about  her?  You 
must  tell  me." 

"  I,  madam?  I  never  exchanged  a  word  with  her 
in  my  life — save  on  the  first  evening  I  came  here  as 
I  was  looking  at  the  ball  from  the  gallery." 

"  Yes — the  night  poor  George  was  so  tipsy.  Yes 
— and  what  did  she  say  then?  " 

"  Nothing  about  him,  I  am  certain.  And  I  am  not 
likely  to  forget  what  passed,  for  she  did  me  the 
great  pleasure  of  pointing  out  your  ladyship  to  me 
for  the  first  time." 

And  I  actually  had  the  audacity  to  look  up  In  her 


152  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

face,  Insinuating  that  so  lovely  a  sight  had  made  an 
impression  on  me  never  to  be  forgot. 

''And  you  have  not  spoken  to  her  since?''  she 
said,  In  what  I  thought  was  a  somewhat  disappointed 
tone. 

"  I  have  not,"  quoth  I,  gravely.  "  I  am  sure  your 
ladyship  would  not  approve  of  my  holding  conversa- 
tion with  your  ladyship's  maid." 

"  Oh!  of  course  not.  I  know  you  are  too  high- 
minded  ever  to  think  of  such  a  thing.  But  really — 
surely — you  and  he  are  so  delightfully  intimate — 
has  George  never  spoken  to  you  about  her?  " 

Did  she  want  evidence  against  him?  If  so,  It 
amounted  to  a  home  thrust  which  I  was  justified  in 
parrying  somehow — anyhow. 

"  If  he  had,  madam,  I  should  cerfainly  have 
stopped  his  talking  on  such  an  undesirable  subject." 

''  Then  you  consider  her  an  undesirable  person?  " 

"  Madam  " — I  tried  to  laugh — ''  what  possible 
judge  am  I,  an  obscure,  lame  scholar,  of  the  desira- 
bleness or  otherwise  of  French  lady's-maids?  The 
fact  that  she  Is,  and  remains.  In  your  service  Is  suffi- 
cient guarantee  of  her — shall  I  say — respecta- 
bility?" 

Here,  I  flattered  myself,  was  a  home  thrust  from 
the  other  side.  Her  Magnificence  found  It  so,  I 
think,  for  her  colour  rose  slightly.    I  went  on — 

"  This  I  can  say  positively,  that,  as  far  as  I  have 
seen.  Lord  Hartover  has  never  had  any  intercourse 
with  her  since  I  have  been  In  this  house." 

Which  was  the  fact — with  a  difference. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  153 

"  But  you  know,  of  course,  that  he  used  to  do  so 
often — too  often — before  you  came,  poor  boy?  " 

Taking  truth  for  granted  thus,  is  a  very  formi- 
dable method  of  attack.     I  felt  at  my  wits'  end. 

"  My  lady,  I  made  it  a  rule  when  I  entered  this 
house  never  to  inquire  about  what  had,  or  had  not, 
happened  before  I  came  here.  I  held  myself  respon- 
sible only  for  what  took  place  under  my  tutorship.  I 
felt — I  am  sure  that  you  will  see  that  I  am  right — 
that  my  only  way  of  making  Lord  Hartover  trust 
me,  was  to  begin  with  him  as  one  who  knew  nothing 
about  him,  to  take  him  simply  as  I  found  him. 
Whether  my  method  has  succeeded  in  improving  him 
you  are  the  best  judge." 

"  Yes,  perfectly,  perfectly.  What  could  have  done 
better?    But — I  am  sure  I  must  have  tired  you." 

'*  Oh,  madam — as  if  such  a  thing  was  possible. 
Especially  after  all  your  kindness." 

"  You  have  more  than  repaid  it.  Really  you  have 
taken  an  immense  load  off  my  mind,  and  I  shall  go 
downstairs  a  happier  woman.  Poor  dear  George — 
what  do  we  not  owe  to  you?  Of  course,  this  conver- 
sation is  a  secret  between  us." 

"  My  dear  lady,"  I  said,  trying  to  rise,  and  falling 
back  into  my  chair  in  the  effort,  "  after  you  have  hon- 
oured me  with  your  confidence,  as  you  have  done  to- 
day, I  were  base  Indeed " 

Having  beaten  off  the  enemy,  I  could  afford  to  be 
generous. 

"  Well,  well,"  she  said,  smiling  exquisitely  as  ever. 
"  Adieu,  and  thanks.    Now  mind,  dear  Mr.  Brown- 


154  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

low,  whatever  you  want,  ask  for.  And  if  they  are 
not  attentive  to  you,  let  me  know  instantly,  or  I  shall 
be  quite  angry  and  hurt." 

With  that  she  swept  out  of  the  room.    I  breathed 
more  freely  as  she  went. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

That  Interview  left  me  with  very  mixed  feelings. 
On  the  one  hand  was  the  promise  of  security  for  my 
own  future.  The  burden  of  poverty  was  lifted  off 
me.  I  could  work  without  anxiety  as  to  ways  and 
means,  and  take,  as  I  believed,  a  high  degree.  In 
all  probability  a  fellowship  would  follow;  then  some 
pleasant  country  rectory — a  home — the  first  home  I 
should  have  known  since  childhood.  I  was  tired,  my 
reason  less  active  than  my  imagination,  I  let  it  run 
to  vague  sweet  fancies;  but  drew  myself  up  short. 
For,  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  the  threatened 
parting  with  Hartover.  It  would  not,  could  not,  be 
for  his  good.  Ought  I  to  protest  further,  get  others 
to  protest?  I  remembered  my  conversation  with 
Lord In  the  library,  that  afternoon  last  sum- 
mer; and  his  permission  to  ask  his  advice  should 
occasion  arise.    Was  this  the  occasion? 

But  If  the  boy  himself  wished  It?  After  all  It  was 
natural  enough.  For  whom  has  not  a  uniform 
charms  at  eighteen  years  old?  It  had  for  me  at  that 
age,  I  knew,  and  had  brought  home  to  me  the  cruel 
loss  and  disability  of  my  lameness  more  than  aught 
else.  Playing  at  soldiers,  as  most  played  In  those 
days.  Is  a  pretty  and  harmless  amusement.  It  gives 
a  sense  of  power  without  the  trouble  of  using  It. 
Why  should  not  the  dear  boy  like  to  be  an  officer  in 

155 


ts6  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

the  Life  Guards?  He  would  make  such  a  handsome 
one  too  !  I  should  take  pride — so  wrapped  up  in  him 
was  I — in  his  plume  and  cuirass,  and  fine  charger. 
How  well  he  would  sit  his  horse !  And  then  a  pang 
of  jealousy  shot  through  me,  remembering  that  he 
had  never  told  me  of  his  wish  to  go  into  the  army. 
It  was  very  odd.  For  what  did  he  not  tell  me  ?  Why 
conceal  so  natural  a  desire?  Was  he  ashamed  of  it, 
fancying  I  wanted  to  make  a  statesman  of  him? 

I  would  ask  him  and  at  once.  I  could  not  bear — 
so  bewitched  was  I — the  tliought  of  his  having  any 
confidant  but  myself. 

I  put  the  question  to  him  that  very  afternoon,  in 
my  impatience,  as  we  were  reading  Plutarch — some- 
thing about  Epaminondas  or  another  of  those  old 
fighting  worthies — ^"  Did  he  mean  to  be  such  a  man 
as  that  when  he  went  into  the  army?  *' 

"  Into  the  army?  "  and  he  gave  a  start  of  evident 
surprise. 

"  Why  you  are  going  immediately,  I  hear,  into  the 
Life  Guards?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  he  sturdily. 

*'  I  thought — I  thought  " — I  could  not  conceal  my 
triumph — "  that  you  would  have  told  me  yourself." 

*' Of  course  I  should;  whom  else?  What  is  this 
invention?  Who  has  set  this  story  afloat?  Two  or 
three  years  ago,  there  was  some  talk  of  my  being  a 
soldier;  but  I  had  forgot  all  about  it. — And  since — 
since  you  came,  all  is  changed.  I  do  not  want  to  be 
a  soldier.  I  am  not  a  fool  to  be  dazzled  by  a  red 
coat  and  gold  lace." 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  157 

"  My  dear  boy,  all  I  know  is,  that  it  is  your 
father's  intention  you  should  go  into  the  Guards  this 
spring." 

*'  I  don't  care  what  he  intends.  I  won't  go.  I  can- 
not go." 

And  he  got  up,  and  walked  nervously  about  the 
room. 

"  God,  but  it  would  be  dreadful — just  now,  as  I 
was  beginning  to  have  hope.  I  shall  be  ruined  if  I 
leave  her " 

"  Her?  "  I  cried,  in  sharp  anxiety  and  fear.  But 
he  went  on,  hardly  heeding  me. 

"  Just  as  I  was  beginning  to  feel  that  I  could  do 
anything  for  her  sake — give  up  anything.  That  the 
thought  of  her,  and  her  beautiful,  pure  wise  face, 
would  bring  me  safe  through  any  temptation " 

"Good  Heavens,  whom  are  you  talking  of? 
Fedore?" 

I  recollected,  trembling,  his  angry  assertion  of 
Fedore's  purity. 

"Fedore?  Pish! — I  have  forgotten  her  and  all 
about  her.  Fedore — no — no — Nellie — Miss  Braith- 
waite.  I  tell  you,  old  man,  ever  since  we  met  her  in 
the  lane  that  day — you  remember  when  she  held  open 
the  field  gate  for  the  sheep? — and  I  looked  into  her 
sweet  wise  face — and  so  beautiful,  too — there's  no 
face  in  the  world  like  it — I  felt  as  if  a  new  life  had 
begun.  No — that's  not  quite  true,  though.  I  was 
struck,  I  admired  her;  but  I  didn't  feel  that  at  first. 
It  grew  upon  me  " — his  eyes  were  alight,  his  coun- 
tenance transfigured  by  a  dawning  of  very  noble  pas- 


158  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

sion — ''  It  grew  upon  me.  If  I  could  have  her  some 
day  to  teach  me,  to  keep  me  out  of  what's  low  and 
unworthy,  like  some  good  spirit,  some  guardian  angel 
— I  could  wait — wait — serve  for  her  for  seven  years, 
as  Jacob  served  for  Rachel  in  the  Bible.  I  would 
read,  I  would  learn,  I  would  make  myself  a  great 
name — anything,  no  matter  how  hard,  anything  to 
be  worthy  of  and  to  win  her. — Why,  my  dear  old 
man,"  he  broke  off  abruptly,  "  what  on  earth  is  the 
matter  with  you?  " 

For  I  lay  back  in  my  chair  deadly  pale.  Alas !  was 
this  to  be  the  end  of  all  those  dreams  which  I  had 
never  confessed,  even  to  myself?  Indeed  I  had 
never  understood  till  that  hour  how  I  loved  Nellie 
Braithwaite.  Never  understood,  purblind  fool  that 
I  was,  the  charm  of  Mere  Ban,  which  drew  me  back 
there  again  and  again,  consisted,  not  in  talks  con- 
cerning politics,  social  and  economic  questions,  proj- 
ects of  reform,  or  schemes  for  the  elevation  of  the 
masses — though  these  no  doubt  had  their  value — but 
in  something  quite  else;  not  in  the  father's  appeal  to 
my  intellect,  in  short,  but  in  the  daughter's  empire 
over  my  heart. 

Every  word  which  Hartover  said  of  himself,  his 
own  feelings,  his  own  hopes  and  purposes,  was  true 
of  mine  likewise.  A  hundred  times  more  true;  for 
what  would  it  cost  him  to  win  her  in  comparison  with 
what  it  would  cost  me  ?  I,  at  the  bottom  of  the  steep 
ladder  of  fame,  with  all  the  weary  climb  before  me. 
He,  darling  alike  of  Nature  and  Fortune,  more  than 
half-way  up  the  ladder  already,  nineteen-twentieths 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  159 

of  his  work  done  for  him,  ready  to  his  hand.  And  a 
storm  of  envy,  of  wicked  rage  swept  over  me.  He 
to  talk  of  labour,  of  sacrifices !  The  rich  man,  taking 
credit  to  himself  for  sparing  his  own  flocks  and 
herds,  while  he  snatched  away  the  poor  man's  one 
ewe  lamb.  Oh !  these  great  folks,  these  great  folks, 
from  childhood  to  old  age  they  all  are  the  same. 
They  fancy  the  whole  world  is  made  for  their  profit 
or  pastime;  and  stalk  on  in  their  arrogant  pride,  like 
giants,  heedless  that  their  every  step  crushes  a  thou- 
sand living  creatures,  to  whom  life  is  as  sweet  as  to 
themselves,  suffering  as  cruel,  death  as  blank ! 

I  had  shut  my  eyes — perhaps  to  keep  back  the 
burning  tears.    I  felt  a  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Dearest  old  man,  you  are  ill !  I  have  talked  too 
much  to  you  about  my  own  selfish  concerns '' 

I  looked  up  and  met  his  eyes,  fixed  on  mine  with 
such  loving  earnestness  that  I  was  melted  at  once. 
In  God's  name,  who  was  I,  to  stand  between  him  and 
his  happiness?  What  told  me  I  had  been  sent  into 
the  world  to  be  happy?  Not  my  club  foot  in  good 
truth.    But  all  I  could  bring  out  was — 

"Yes,  I  am  a  good  deal  shaken  by  yesterday; 
only — thank  God,  it  is  not  Fedore !  " 

*'  No,"  he  said  eagerly,  smiling,  but  blushing  scar- 
let withal.  "  I  was  very  foolish  about  Fedore  once 
— and  I  should  have  behaved  very  III — basely — to 
her,  if  she  would  have  let  me;  but  she  would  not. 
And  then  you  came.  You  taught  me  to  love  purity, 
simplicity,  usefulness,  nobleness,  wherever  I  saw 
them;  and  I  saw  them  in  Nellie  Braithwaite.    I  loved 


i6o  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

them  there.  You  taught  me  to  love  her !  "  And  he 
smiled  winnlngly  in  my  face.  "  And  so  you  must  help 
me  to  win  her.  You  will — I  am  sure  you  will  " — 
and  he  took  both  my  hands  in  his — "  I  have  no  one 
to  help  me  but  you,  you  know." 

A  shudder  passed  through  me.  I  saw  the  danger 
of  my  position — the  practical  difficulties,  the  immense 
social  unfitness  of  such  a  marriage.  I  knew  his  pur- 
suing it  might  cost  him  many  thousands  a  year;  for 
Lord  Longmoor,  whose  religion  was  very  certainly 
not  of  a  democratic  type,  would  undoubtedly  refuse 
his  consent.  This  however  was  the  last  objection 
I  dare  raise  to  a  high-minded  boy,  like  Hartover,  in 
his  present  temper.  Besides  what  objection  of  any 
description  could  come  fittingly  from  my  lips  ?  Was 
not  my  happiness  bound  up  in  the  destruction  of  his? 
Could  I,  in  honour,  interfere  where  all  I  might  do 
would  secretly  be  done  on  my  own  behalf?  His  loss 
was  all  too  clearly  my  gain.  Still  I  was  equally  in 
honour  bound  to  prevent  his  angering  his  father; 
bound  to  prevent  his  losing — as  he  assuredly  would 
lose — the  bulk  of  his  fortune.  A  thought  moreover 
of  my  own  interest  occurred  to  me.  What  if  I  should 
be  discovered  in  abetting  his  infatuation,  expelled  the 
house — ruined — for  nothing  short  of  ruin  would  it 
spell?  But  when  that  last  thought  crossed  my  mind, 
I  flung  it  from  me.  To  dissuade  him  from  such  a 
marriage  that  I  might  step  in  myself  was  ignoble 
enough.  But  to  dissuade  him  from  it  to  save  my 
own  pocket  was  doubly  ignoble.  And  yet  I  could  not 
nerve  myself  to  a  definite  answer. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  i6i 

"  So  you  won't  help  me,"  he  said  at  last,  relin- 
quishing my  hands.  "  You  are  afraid  of  my  father, 
like  the  rest." 

*'  Unjust,"  I  cried.  "  I  am  afraid  of  nothing  but 
doing  wrong  by  you.  Tell  me  " — for  a  point  pre- 
sented itself  with  which  I  was  glad  to  turn  the  con- 
versation— "  have  you — have  you  spoken  to  her 
about  this?" 

I  waited,  trembling,  to  hear  my  own  fate. 

"  No — yes — once,  that  is " 

*^  And  tell  me — you  must  tell  me — what  she  an- 
swered? " 

He  gave  a  proud  laugh. 

"  She  was  so  angry;  and  looked  so  splendid  when 
she  was  angry.  Said  I  was  making  game  of  her,  for- 
sooth !  But  I  soon  let  her  know  I  was  in  earnest, 
and  then  she  was  angrier  still.  And  that  made  me 
love  her  all  the  more — to  have  the  spirit  to  refuse 
me!  Yes,  I  love  her  all  the  more  for  it.  But  she's 
not  going  to  escape  me  so  easily,  I  can  tell  her.  I 
mean  to  have  her,  and,  by  God,  have  her  I  will.  And 
have  her,  I  think  I  can,  eh!  dear  old  man?  I  don't 
go  to  her  quite  empty-handed,  after  all,  you  know." 

And  he  looked  askance,  into  the  mirror  over  the 
chimney-piece,  at  his  own  fair  head.  Have  her?  Of 
course  he  could;  or  any  other  woman  whom  he  chose. 

My  heart  sank  within  me.  There  was  no  hope 
for  me.  The  bull  was  brought  to  the  stake  and  must 
abide  the  baiting.    Still  I  must  gain  a  little  respite. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  I  told  him,  *'  this  is  a  matter  not 
to  be  settled  in  an  hour  or  a  day.    We  must  go  slow 


1 62  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

about  it.  But  this  I  tell  you.  When  all  is  said  and 
done  you  are  dearer  to  me  " — I  paused  a  moment  to 
confirm  my  own  resolution — "  dearer  to  me  than 
anyone  living.  And  you  I  will  think  for,  you  I  will 
work  for  whatever  betide,  in  life  and  in  death.'' 

*'  I  knew  you  would!  "  he  cried  triumphantly,  in- 
terpreting in  his  own  sense  words  which  were  pur- 
posely ambiguous,  yet  most  earnest  and  true. — 
^'What's  that  noise?" 

And  darting  away  from  me  across  the  room,  he 
flung  the  door — which  somehow,  it  appeared,  had 
come  ajar — wide  open,  to  discover,  crouching  down 
outside  it,  no  less  a  person  than  Mr.  Halidane. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

An  ugly  scene  followed.  Violent,  even  brutal,  on 
the  one  part,  abject  yet  tricky  on  the  other,  it  re- 
flected small  enough  credit  on  either.  Had  It  not 
proved  the  pivot  upon  which  subsequent  events 
turned,  I  would  willingly  leave  it  unrecorded. 

Fearing  what  might  happen,  I  sprang  to  my  feet, 
crippled  though  I  was.  But  long  before  I  could 
reach  him,  I  saw  Hartover  strike  the  man  in  the 
face  with  a  crack  like  a  pistol  shot,  which,  I  own, 
made  me  shudder  all  over;  seize  him  by  the  collar, 
and,  dragging  him  forward,  hurl  him  into  the  middle 
of  the  room,  shutting  and  locking  the  door  behind 
him. 

In  vain  I  implored  the  boy  to  restrain  himself. 
Inflamed  by — not  wholly  unrighteous — indignation, 
and  by  the  desire  of  revenge,  seeing  too  his  romance 
profaned,  made  common  and  vulgar,  the  young  bar- 
barian, not  to  say  young  wild  beast,  broke  loose  in 
Hartover.  He  had  a  long  score  to  settle  with  Hali- 
dane  and  proceeded  to  settle  It  In  a  primitive  manner. 
Anger  In  his  case  was,  unfortunately,  not  Inarticulate. 
He  let  fly  with  tongue  as  well  as  with  fists. 

''  Sneak,  scoundrel,"  he  thundered — "  you  dirty 
hypocrite.  Gad,  I'll  punish  you — I'll  punish  you. 
Always  making  mischief  between  me  and  my  father 
— setting  him  against  me. — Take  that — and  that — 

163 


1 64  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

and  that,  sir. — Always  getting  money  out  of  him, 
too,  and  robbing  me — yes,  robbing  me  to  feed  a 
crew  of  slavering  rascals  like  yourself,  who  are  too 
lazy  to  do  an  honest  day's  work  as  long  as  they  can 
live  at  free  quarters,  sing  hymns  out  of  tune  and 
miaul  prayers  they  don't  believe  in.  I'll  answer 
your  prayers,  for  once,  as  they  deserve  to  be  an- 
swered. Take  that,  I  tell  you.  And  now,  what  have 
you  heard,  you  dirty  spy — what  have  you  heard,  I 
say?  If  you  don't  want  to  be  pounded  any  more, 
answer  me." 

Mr.  Halidane  was  considerably  taller  and  heavier 
than  the  boy,  and  should  have  been  more  than  his 
equal  in  fighting  capacity.  But  soft  living  and  neglect 
of  exercise  had  made  him  squashy — "  of  the  con- 
sistence of  an  underdone  sausage  "  as  the  boy  put  it 
naughtily.  He  had  been  taken  wholly  by  surprise, 
moreover,  and  appeared  rather  contemptibly  help- 
less under  the  lad's  furious  onslaught.  It  was  not 
until  I  managed  to  throw  myself  between  him  and  his 
assailant,  that  he  gathered  voice  or  courage  enough 
to  reply. 

"  The  saints  do  not  strive  or  cry,  my  lord,"  he 
panted,  "  or  return  blow  for  blow !  But  I  would 
have  you  remember  they  are  bidden  to  be  prudent 
and  watchful,  not  slothful  in  business  or  in  the  re- 
proof of  sinners — knowing  that  vengeance  is  the 
divine  prerogative,  and  that  He  will  repay,  my  lord," 
he  added  viciously.  "  Oh  dear,  yes — for  His  saints 
who  humbly  trust  in  Him — not  a  doubt  about  it.  He 
will  repay." 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  165 

"  Which  means,''  the  boy  cried  scornfully,  "  that 
not  having  the  pluck  to  be  a  ruffian  you're  only  a 
rogue.  I  congratulate  you.  It  forwards  the  cause 
of  religion,  doesn't  it?  Makes  religion  so  attractive. 
And  now,  once  again,  Mr.  Rogue,  what  have  you 
overheard,  I  say?  " 

''  What  I  have  had  to  endure  is  the  first  question, 
my  lord.  I  came  here,  by  her  ladyship's  commands, 
to  commune  with  Mr.  Brownlow  as  one  Christian 
brother — if  I  can  any  longer  apply  that  sweet  term 
to  him — with  another,  about  matters  relating  to  the 
family.  In  return,  I  am  attacked,  struck,  grossly  ill- 
used  and  insulted  by  the  pupil  whom  he  prides  him- 
self upon  having  instructed  in  the  loftiest  principles 
of  heathen — and  unregenerate — virtue.  The  result 
of  such  instructions  are,  I  think,  manifest.  I  behold 
their  fallen  fruits !  " 

I  felt  almost  inclined  to  laugh.  In  spite  of  my  very 
real  alarm  and  dismay.  For  the  fallen  fruits.  In  as 
far  as  they  were  visible,  consisted  of  a  purple  stream 
— juice  not  of  the  grape — descending  over  Mr.  Hall- 
dane's  white  shirt  front,  which  he  essayed  unsuccess- 
fully to  staunch  with  a  scarlet  and  green  silk  pocket- 
handkerchief.  Still  I  answered,  courteously  and 
ceremoniously,  that  I  was  extremely  shocked  and 
grieved  by  so  unfortunate  a  mistake,  so  unseemly  an 
occurrence — that  It  was  Immensely  to  be  regretted 
Mr.  Halldane's  position  should  have  appeared  equiv- 
ocal— and  so  forth,  smoothing  matters  to  the  best  of 
my  ability. 

But  the  boy  burst  In  again. 


1 66  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  What  have  you  heard?  I've  given  you  one  lick- 
ing and,  as  I  live,  I'll  give  you  another,  and  another 
after  that." 

In  vain  I  entreated  for  peace.  His  attitude  re- 
mained threatening,  while  Hahdane  seemed  slowly 
making  up  his  mind  to  give  way  and  speak. 

"  Lord  Hartover,"  he  said  at  length,  with  a  singu- 
lar mixture  of  truculence  and  cringing,  "  I  think,  as  a 
Christian,  I  should  return  good  for  evil,  and  tell 
you  plainly  what — oh !  with  such  pain ! — I  most 
unwillingly  listened  to,  so  that  you  may  see  how 
cruelly  unfounded  are  your  charges  against  me.  I 
heard  you,  my  lord,  confess  to  having  indulged  a 
guilty  passion  for  your  step-mother's  maid.  Of  that, 
however,  I  was,  I  grieve  to  say,  only  too  well  aware 
already — as,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  was  this  gen- 
tleman also.  I  heard  you  then  confess  your  inten- 
tion of  marrying  a  farmer's  daughter,  in  spite  of 
whatever  opposition  your  poor  sainted  father  might 
offer — a  young  woman,  I  may  add,  indoctrinated  with 
revolutionary  ideas,  which  must  be  abhorrent  to 
every  right-minded.  God-fearing  person.  And  lastly, 
to  my  astonishment  and  horror,  I  heard  this  gentle- 
man promise  you  his  full  aid  and  assistance  in  the 
prosecution  of  that  most  undutiful  and  even  wicked 
project." 

This  last  was  a  rank  falsehood;  but  I  would  not 
say  so  before  Hartover.  No — I  was  embarked 
fairly  with  him  now.  If  I  let  him  believe  that  I  was 
going  to  cast  him  off  at  such  a  crisis,  what  might  not 
happen?     I  would  take  my  venture  with  him,  and 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  167 

try  to  save  him  if  I  could.  As  for  the  other  two 
counts,  they  were  near  enough  to  the  truth  to  be 
made  to  do  truth's  work.  Well — was  not  that  all 
the  more  reason  for  standing  by  the  boy  in  his  ex- 
tremity? He  remained  silent,  choking  with  rage,  but 
aware  of  his  danger. 

*'  And  now,  my  lord,  having  clearly  put  before  you 
our  relative  positions  " — saying  this,  in  a  smooth 
voice,  there  was  an  evil  look  in  his  eye — '^  I  think  I 
may  be  permitted  to  wish  your  lordship  a  good 
afternoon.  Mr.  Brownlow,  you  will  be  my  witness 
that  throughout  this  painful  interview  I  have  at  no 
time  been  wanting  in  the  respect  due  to  Lord  Hart- 
over's  superior  station." 

For  which  speech  I  longed  to  kick  him.  That 
which  I  longed  to  do,  my  pupil  seemed  about 
to  do. 

*'  Yes,  you  may  go;  but  not  through  the  door,"  he 
said.  *'  The  window  is  at  your  service,  sir.  Oblige 
me  by  leaving  that  way.  You  won't?  Very  good, 
then  I'll  make  you." 

And  before  I  could  intervene,  he  snatched  a  rapier 
down  from  the  wall  and  began  forcing  his  victim 
back  with  the  point  towards  the  window. 

"  Here  goes — a  serpent  must  do  for  a  dragon  for 
once.  You're  the  serpent,  and  I  stand  for  St. 
George." 

Halidane,  with  the  cold  steel  playing  about  his 
ribs,  utterly  unmanned,  howled  aloud  to  me  for  pro- 
tection. I  threw  my  arms  round  the  boy,  and  quieted 
him  sufficiently  to  get  the  key  from  his  pocket  and 


1 68  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

thus  enable  the  wretched  man  to  escape.     Then  I 
threw  myself  back  into  a  chair,  exhausted. 

I  passed  a  very  miserable  half-hour  after  that, 
and  a  humiliating  one.  The  good  work  of  months 
seemed  to  be  undone;  the  self-control,  which  I  had 
spent  so  many  anxious  hours  in  instilling,  to  be  swept 
away.  For  the  time  being  the  boy  was,  to  all  prac- 
tical intents  and  purposes,  mad.  He  raved,  he  swore, 
he  made  wild  plans.  The  villain  had  gone  to  tell  his 
father;  but  he  would  not  see  his  father.  He  would 
leave  the  house  that  moment.  He  would  go  down  to 
Mr.  Braithwaite  and  have  it  out  with  him.  He 
would  take  a  farm.  He  would  enlist  as  a  private 
soldier.  He  would  go  as  a  huntsman  to  hounds.  He 
would  do  anything,  everything.  At  last  he  raved 
himself  thirsty,  and  rang  the  bell.  William,  who  had 
I  found  been  waiting  outside,  in  terror,  entered  in- 
stantly. 

"  Drink,  he  must  have  drink!  Some  brandy.  No. 
Champagne — that  would  keep  his  spirits  up.  Go  to 
Marsigli,  and  tell  him  to  send  it.  Curse  them !  He 
was  heir  to  Hover  yet,  he  would  make  somebody  at 
least  obey  him !  " 

I  was  in  despair.  If  drinking  began  again,  all  was' 
indeed  lost;  and,  before  I  fully  realised  what  I  was 
doing,  I  found  myself  upon  my  knees  before  him. 

"Not  that,  dearest  boy!  Anything  but  that  I 
Things  are  bad  enough  already.  Do  not  make  them 
worse  by  destroying  your  reason,  when  you  never 
had  more  need  of  it.  William,  if  you  bring  it — I 
will  never  forgive  you." 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  169 

*'  Please  not,  my  lord,"  echoed  William. 

"  Lord  Hartover,  I  do  not  rise,  or  let  you  go,  till 
you  promise  me  not  to  send  for  any  liquor " 

He  struggled  so  violently  to  get  away  from  me, 
that  he  threw  me  against  a  table.  Bruised  as  I  was, 
every  touch  hurt  me,  and  I  uttered  a  cry  of  pain. 
This  brought  him  to  himself. 

He  burst  into  a  violent  flood  of  tears,  lifted  me 
up  tenderly,  and  helped  me  to  a  chair  entreating 
pardon. 

"  I  do  need  my  reason  indeed;  but  I  have  none  left. 
Help  me  with  yours.    What  shall  I  do?  " 

"  Try  at  least  to  be  calm,"  I  said. 

"  But  I  cannot.  I  will  leave  this  house.  I  cannot 
face  the  Insults  which  I  know  are  coming." 

"  Your  father  will  never  insult  you." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  Brownlow?  And  if  he 
does  not,  he  will  let  that  Halidane  Insult  me — set  him 
on  to  do  It — and  to  insult  you,  too.  Oh,  my  dear 
old  man,  what  have  I  done?    I  have  ruined  you." 

"  Who  can  tell?  "  I  said.  I  had  not  yet  made  up 
my  mind  what  course  I  should  pursue,  if — as  was 
most  probable — I  lost  my  position. — What  matter? 
God  would  provide.  "  But  as  for  leaving  this  house, 
you  must  not." 

''  I  must." 

*'  If  your  lordship  goes  I  go  with  you,  to  the 
world's  end,"  quoth  William. 

*'  You  must  neither  of  you  go.  I  will  never  give 
my  consent,  never." 

^'Why?" 


I70  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

*'  Because  it  would  be  wrong.  No  son  has  a  right, 
under  age  as  you  are,  to  run  away  from  his  father's 
house.  Still  less  before  you  have  faced  the  worst. 
You  cannot  tell  what  turn  events  may  take.  The 
whole  storm  may  blow  over,  for  aught  we  know. 
And  then  how  ashamed  you  would  be  at  having  been 
conquered  by  fear  1  " 

"  Fear?  "  he  repeated  scornfully. 

"  Yes,  fear.  To  be  afraid  of  being  insulted  is 
every  bit  as  cowardly  as  being  afraid  of  being 
wounded,  or  of  suffering  any  other  bodily  pain  or 
shock." 

"But  my  honour?" 

"  A  man's  duty  is  his  honour,  whatever  else  is  not. 
Do  your  duty,  and  your  honour  will  take  care  of 
itself.  And  your  duty,  to-day,  is  to  remain  here  and 
listen,  like  a  good  son,  to  whatever  your  father  has 
to  say  to  you." 

*'  Please,  gentlemen — my  lord,"  William  put  in, 
"  why  not  send  for  the  colonel  and  tell  him  the 
whole  story?  " 

"  Why  not?  "  I  said.  "  Excellent  advice.  Let  us 
lay  the  matter  before  him  at  once." 

My  reasons  for  this  step  were  threefold.  Colonel 
Esdaile  would  approach  the  matter  as  a  man  of  the 
world.  His  verdict  would,  to  some  extent,  relieve 
me  of  responsibility,  and  I  was  near  the  end  of  my 
powers.  I  sorely  needed  relief.  And,  thirdly,  I 
knew  for  a  fact  that  he  was  no  friend  to  Halidane. 
What  influence  he  possessed  he  would  use,  I  believed, 
on  the  boy's  behalf. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  171 

I  said  something  to  this  effect.  Hartover  looked 
shrewdly  at  me. 

*'Will  he?  Pm  not  altogether  so  sure  of  that. 
You  don't  quite  measure  the  Rusher  yet,  old  man. 
He's  his  own  book  to  make,  the  old  fox;  and  it  all 
depends  whether  my  book  suits  his." 

And  he  stood  thinking,  his  face  serious,  his  brows 
knit. 

I  could  not  but  think,  too,  for  his  words  disheart- 
ened me,  recalling  my  earlier  uneasy  sense  of  the 
conflicting  wills,  the  conflicting  interests,  intrigue  and 
possible  treachery,  which  lay  below  the  fair  seeming 
of  these  fine  people  and  the  life  of  this  great  house. 
Lady  Longmoor  had  hinted  at  it.  The  boy  hinted 
at  it.  Halidane  had  confirmed  those  hints  at  a  par- 
ticularly low  level.  But  what  of  the  higher  level — 
did  falsehood,  self-seeking,  scheming  reign  there 
equally?  Colonel  Esdalle  stood  next  in  the  succes- 
sion, since  Lady  Longmoor  was  childless.  It  was 
to  his  interest,  then,  that  Hartover  should  not  marry 
at  all.  True — but  the  chances  of  his  remaining  un- 
married were  so  remote,  that  it  might  suit  the  colonel 
better  to  help  forward  a  match  of  which  Lord  Long- 
moor disapproved.  If  the  latter  disinherited  his  son, 
he — the  colonel — might  secure  a  share  of  the  plun- 
der. Why  I  knew  not,  but  my  heart  often  misgave 
me  that  if  the  earl's  Innumerable  Imaginary  ailments 
developed  into  one  real  ailment — a  thing  very  pos- 
sible— if,  to  be  plain,  he  succeeded,  and  those  about 
him  succeeded  In  coddling  him  to  death,  within  as 
short  a  time  as  the  decencies  of  mourning  permitted 


172  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

I  should  see  Colonel  Esdaile  her  ladyship's  husband. 
What  was  their  relation  to  one  another  now?  Gos- 
sip, I  could  not  but  be  aware,  had  long  been  busy. 
Yet  my  recent  conversation  with  her — her  confi- 
dences, all  she  had  so  touchingly  told  me — what  did 
these  mean?  I  recoiled  in  horror,  for  was  I  not 
groping  along  the  edge  of  a  moral  abyss  compared 
with  which  my  groping  along  the  edge  of  that  natu- 
ral abyss,  in  the  darkness  of  the  limestone  cavern, 
two  nights  ago,  became  a  thing  of  small  moment. 
Heavens !  what  a  hateful  disgusting  web  it  all  was 
for  me  to  have  to  soil  my  hands  in  disentangling. 
Oh!  for  my  quiet  college  rooms  again,  grand  old 
books,  and  peace. 

But  the  boy  was  there  in  utter  need,  all  this  while, 
and  something  must  be  done  at  once.  Whatever  his 
ulterior  hopes  and  purposes,  there  could  be  no  ques- 
tion of  the  colonel's  dislike  of  Halidane.  No  ques- 
tion, either,  that  Halidane  was  struggling,  whether 
for  himself  or  his  clique,  to  secure  a  share  of  that 
aforementioned  plunder.  At  this  juncture  the  two 
plunderers'  interest  could  not  run  on  all  fours — 
therefore  I  would  chance  it. 

"  William  is  right,"  I  said  at  last.  "  We  will  go 
and  talk  things  over  with  the  colonel." 

I  forgot  I  could  not  walk.  The  boy  would  not 
leave  me.  He  all  but  clung  to  me.  William  must 
be  our  messenger. 


CHAPTER  XX 

As  soon  as  we  were  alone  Hartover  crossed  the 
room,  and  threw  open  a  casement  of  one  of  the  long 
low  diamond-paned  windows;  thereby  letting  In  the 
chill  air  drawing  down  from  the  distant  fells.  Let- 
ting In,  too,  the  song  of  the  northerly  wind  among 
the  giant  firs — a  sad  but  very  noble  melody.  Di- 
shevelled, his  raiment  disordered  by  stress  of  battle, 
he  stood  In  his  smart  high-walsted  blue  coat,  his 
hands  thrust  in  his  breeches  pockets,  leaning  his 
flushed  cheek  against  the  stone  mulllon,  and  gazing 
over  gardens,  pinery,  and  stately  avenue  to  where 
the  upward  rolling  wilderness  of  rusty  Indigo  moor 
rose  against  the  quiet  sky.  He  was  quite  gentle  now, 
subdued  and  wistful,  wearied  by  the  violence  of  his 
own  passion;  and — beautiful  exceedingly,  as  I  could 
not  but  note.  That  anyone  should  have  the  heart  to 
plot  against  or  strive  to  Injure  him,  to  traffic  with  his 
faults  or  weaknesses  to  their  own  advantage,  ap- 
peared to  me  past  belief.  And  It  seemed  these 
thoughts  of  mine  must  have  communicated  them- 
selves to  him,  in  some  way,  passing  into  his  mind,  for 
he  presently  said — 

*'  Why,  why  can't  they  be  kind  to  me  ?  Or  If  that's 
expecting  too  much,  why  can't  they  let  me  alone?  I 
don't  want  to  be  a  blackguard.  By  Heaven,  I  could 
be  good,  should  be  good,  if  only  they  treated  me 

173 


174  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

fairly,  didn't  lay  traps  for  and  badger  me.  Upon 
my  soul,  it's  as  if  they  wished  me  to  go  to  the  devil 
and  to  do  wrong.  Honestly,  I  never  had  a  dog's 
chance  till  you  came,  Brownlow.  If  I'm  the  young 
limb  of  Satan  they  make  me  out  to  be,  why  do  they 
take  so  much  trouble  about  keeping  me  here  ?  Why 
can't  they  let  me  clear  out — go  away  with  you,  dear 
old  man,  and  get  something  to  do?  After  all  I've 
my  mother's  money,  you  know.  They  could  hardly 
take  that  from  me.  I  don't  know  exactly  how  much 
it  is,  only  a  couple  of  thousand  or  so  a  year.  But  I 
could  manage  to  scrape  along  on  that  for  a  time,  I 
suppose,  until " 

Here  Colonel  Esdaile  swaggered  in,  genial  and 
laughing,  saving  me,  to  my  thankfulness,  the  neces- 
sity to  reply. 

"  Well,  George,  so  I  hear  you've  a  good  day's 
work  to  your  credit,"  he  began.  *'  I  hope  you  gave 
his  oily  reverence  a  thorough  dressing  down  while 
you  were  about  it." 

"  I  wish  I  had  killed  him,"  the  boy  broke  out, 
firing  up  again. 

**  There  are  little  inconveniences  about  a  charge  of 
assault  and  battery  when  it  ends  in  the  demise  of  the 
battered  one,  I'm  afraid.  Still  I  doubt  if  I  should 
have  given  my  tailor  orders  for  a  band  of  crape  on 
my  sleeve.  The  fellow  got  no  more  than  he  deserves 
In  my  opinion.  So  my  verdict  on  your  conduct  Is 
pretty  much  that  of  the  Irish  Bar,  when  a  certain 
member  of  it  knocked  a  certain  counsellor  down  in 
the  Town  Courts— namely  that  '  nothing  could  be 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  175 

more  reprehensible  than  Mr.  O'Blank's  conduct  in 
knocking  the  counsellor  down,  except  Mr.  O'Blank's 
conduct  in  letting  him  get  up  again.'  And  that,  I 
fancy,  will  be  the  verdict  of  everyone — but  your 
father,  who — who  don't  count." 

*'  I  wish  I  could  think  he  did  not.  Colonel,"  said  I. 

''  Oh !  I'll  see  things  are  made  all  right  in  that 
quarter,"  he  declared  lightly.  "  But  now,  as  to  this 
young  lady,  George,  who  is  the  only  really  Important 
part  of  the  matter." 

*'  Who  told  you  there  was  a  young  lady?  "  Hart- 
over  asked  simply^ 

*'  Well  I  might  have  guessed  it,  old  fellow.  When 
men  of  your  age  do  anything  particularly  desperate, 
there  is  sure  to  be  a  petticoat  in  the  case.  But,  to 
tell  the  truth,  I  was  in  my  lady's  boudoir  when  the 
parson  entered." 

"  What?    Did  he  not  go  to  my  father?  " 

"  Your  father  was  just  having  his  throat  rubbed, 
I  understand,  with  some  new  quack's  Vital  Elixir, 
before  driving  out  in  the  cold  wind,  and  could  not 
be  disturbed.  And  now  he  is  gone  out;  so  that  if 
we  could  smother  the  black  fellow  in  the  meantime, 
all  might  be  well  yet." 

"  And  what  did  she  say?  " 

"  Oh,  she  ?  She  went  into  hysterics  at  the  sight  of 
the  wounded  hero,  and  became  thereby  Incompetent 
to  offer  an  opinion  on  the  subject." 

"  Rusher!  "  said  the  boy  fiercely,  "  you're  chaffing 
me.    You  don't  mtend  to  help  me." 

"  Not  to  marry  that  young  lady,  Hartover,"  he 


176  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

said  with  a  complete  change  of  tone.  "  I  know  she 
is  very  lovely,  and  I  daresay  she  is  very  good  and 
clever,  and  all  that;  and  I  don't  think  the  least  the 
worse  of  you  for  faUing  in  love  with  her.  As  if  a 
man  cannot  have  a  passion  or  two  before  he's  twenty- 
one  !  But  as  for  marrying  her,  that  will  never  do; 
and  I  am  sure  Brownlow  here,  who  is  a  sensible  man 
if  ever  there  was  one,  feels  the  same." 

I  was  thankful  the  boy  was  too  absorbed  by  his 
own  emotion  to  observe  the  shrug  and  glance  which 
passed  between  us.  Sincerely,  without  reference  to 
any  stake  of  my  own  in  the  issue,  I  agreed  with  the 
speaker.  The  idea  of  such  a  marriage,  as  matters 
now  stood,  could  not  be  entertained.  Yet  how  was 
I  to  tell  Hartover  so?  Still  more,  how  convince  him 
such  a  view  was  the  only  reasonable  and  prudent 
one? 

And  here  the  poor  boy  broke  out  with  a  string  of 
those  pathetic  and  time-honoured  commonplaces 
which  each  generation  repeats  in  youth  and  smiles 
at  in  maturity.  The  colonel  sat  by,  listening  amus- 
edly; until,  at  last,  out  of  good-nature — perhaps  out 
of  boredom,  too — he  rose  and,  patting  the  boy  on 
the  shoulder,  spoke  soothingly.  ''  Leave  it  all  to 
him,  and  he  would  see  what  could  be  done — would 
go  down  and  talk  it  all  over  with  my  lady.  Hart- 
over  might  count  on  him  to  stand  by  him  " — and  so 
forth,  promising  recklessly  all  I  dared  not  promise, 
because  I  was  in  earnest  while  he  was  not.  I  could 
see  he  treated  the  whole  affair  as  a  lad's  passing 
fancy,   which   had  best  be   humoured,   because,   if 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  177 

humoured,  it  would  in  all  probability  be  forgotten  in 
a  few  months'  time.  I  began  to  wonder  whether  he 
might  not  be  right.  His  experience  was  larger  than 
mine,  and  I  ended  by  blaming  myself  for  having 
taken  the  matter  so  seriously;  selfishly  hoping,  in  my 
heart  of  hearts,  that  the  colonel  had  gauged  the 
position  more  truly  than  I  myself  had. 

He  departed,  leaving  us,  save  for  soothing  phrases, 
pretty  much  where  we  were  before  his  coming. 

The  boy  looked  at  the  fine  swaggering  figure  as  it 
passed  out  on  to  the  stair,  and  said  quietly — 

"  The  Rusher  is  a  humbug.  He  means  what  he 
says,  now,  perhaps;  but  he  won't  do  it.  He  won't 
take  the  trouble  when  it  comes  to  the  point,  or  he'll 
get  talked  over.  You  see  if  he  doesn't.  I  must  just 
help  myself — so — good-bye,  old  man,  for  the  pres- 
ent." 

^'Good-bye?" 

''  Yes — I'm  going  out,  and  without  your  leave — 
mind  that.  My  hat  and  coat,  William.  And,  Will- 
iam  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord,"  and  the  faithful  spaniel  came. 

"  Look  here — I'm  going  out  without  Mr.  Brown- 
low's  permission  and  against  his  will,  and  he  doesn't 
know  where  I  am  going  to." 

William  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

*'  It  is  too  true.  For  Heaven's  sake  tell  me  what 
you  are  about?  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  You 
will  not " 

"  Not  run  away,  I  promise  you.  I  shall  be  back 
in  a  couple  of  hours.    You  can't  catch  me,  you  know. 


178  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

old  fellow;  and  if  you  try  I'll  serve  you  as  I  did 
Halidane." 

He  went,  forcing  a  laugh;  returned  according  to 
promise,  though  in  somewhat  over  the  two  hours, 
was  very  silent  during  dinner,  and  as  soon  as  it  was 
finished  got  up  from  the  table. 

"  I  am  tired,  dear  old  man,"  he  said.  "  Do  you 
mind  if  I  turn  in  early  to-night?  I  want  a  good 
sleep.'* 

At  the  door  he  paused,  came  back  and  putting  his 
two  hands  on  my  shoulders  stood  looking  down  in 
my  face. 

"  She — Nellie — loves  me,  though  she  has  refused 
me,"  he  said,  and  his  lips  quivered.  "  Never  mind 
how,  but  I've  found  that  out.  Now  I  don't  care  a 
hang  what  they  do  or  say.  I  shall  never  give 
her  up." 

Mr.  Marsigli  appeared,  grave  and  courtly,  "  His 
lordship  desired  to  speak  with  Lord  Hartover  at 


once." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

I  HAD  passed  an  agitated  day,  followed  by  a  sleep- 
less night.  Rising  early,  stiff  and  crippled  though  I 
still  was,  I  hobbled  down  the  winding  stairs,  out 
across  the  terrace  and  gardens  to  the  great  square 
of  stable  buildings.  I  had  taken  much  the  same  jour- 
ney on  my  first  morning  at  Hover,  nearly  two  years 
before,  in  all  the  charm  and  radiance  of  May.  This 
was  to  be,  as  I  had  determined,  my  last  morning 
there.  A  very  different  scene,  different  sentiments 
and  circumstances;  alas  for  the  vanity  of  human 
hopes  and  human  wishes  ! 

Hartover's  interview  with  his  father  had  been 
stormy;  the  *'  sainted  "  nobleman's  form  of  piety  by 
no  means  excluding  strong  feeling  or  strong  lan- 
guage in  the  expression  of  it — ^upon  occasion.  But 
the  main  offence,  in  all  this  wretched  business,  was, 
I  learned,  credited  to  my  account.  The  trouble  took 
its  rise  in  my  detestable  association  with  Mr.  Braith- 
waite — whose  political  opinions  stank  in  the  aristo- 
cratic nostrils,  and  of  whose  daughter's  marriage  to 
Hartover  I  was  reported  an  earnest  advocate.  I 
could  have  laughed  at  the  irony  of  my  own  position; 
and  could  easily,  as  I  thought,  see  whom  I  had  to 
thank  for  it.  I  found  it  less  easy  to  decide  on  the 
course  of  action  duty  commanded  me  to  adopt. 

During  the  course  of  the  day  I  had  requested,  even 

179 


i8o  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

demanded,  an  interview  with  Lord  Longmoor,  so 
that  I  might  lay  my  own  account  of  affairs  before 
him.  I  met  with  a  refusal.  It  could  not  be  arranged. 
He  was  too  worried,  too  upset  by  all  which  had  oc- 
curred. His  health  made  it  imperative,  that  he 
should  be  spared  further  discussion  and  annoyance. 
So  I  was  condemned  unheard,  notwithstanding  Plart- 
over's  entreaties  and  protests.  For  the  dear  boy,  I 
believe,  fought  my  battle  bravely,  taking  all  blame 
upon  himself,  controlling  both  tongue  and  temper 
lest  he  should  injure  my  cause  by  violent  or  imperti- 
nent speech. 

I  waited  until  evening  before  coming  to  a  final 
decision,  for  I  did  not  want  to  act  in  anger  or  in 
pique.  Then  I  wrote  to  Lord  Longmoor,  resigning 
my  position  as  tutor  to  his  son.  It  was  a  heavy 
wrench — but  the  heavier  the  wrench  the  more  clear 
the  duty.    Looking  back,  I  still  think  I  did  right. 

Warcop  had  been  my  first  friend  at  Hover,  and  to 
him  I  turned  in  my  present  distress. 

The  day  had  not  fairly  broken  yet.  The  morning 
mist  hung  thick.  In  it  grooms  and  helpers,  but  half 
clothed  and  half  awake,  moved  to  and  fro  about  the 
stable-yard  armed  with  pitchforks  or  buckets,  calling 
to  one  another,  whistling,  their  stunted,  crab-legged 
forms  the  more  ungainly  from  the  trusses  of  straw 
and  hay  borne  on  their  backs.  Even  before  I  could 
distinguish  him,  I  recognised  Warcop's  voice,  rasp- 
ing and  surly,  admonishing  his  subordinates  as  "  lazy 
towlers  and  tykes  "  in  the  broadest  of  his  Yorkshire 
speech. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  i8i 

Seeing  me,  he  held  out  his  hand  in  silence.  I 
grasped  it,  with  a  singular  sense  of  support,  even  of 
comfort — for  I  was  shaken  by  the  events  of  the  last 
three  days,  and  by  my  sleepless  night.  I  followed 
him  into  his  sanctum — a  queer  dusky  office,  hung 
round  with  prints  and  spoils  of  the  stud-farm  and 
the  chase,  furnished  with  shelves,  too,  containing  a 
miscellaneous  assortment  of  professional  stores  and 
appliances — which,  although  in  fact  scrupulously 
clean,  smelt,  I  must  own,  very  vilely  of  horse-medi- 
cines, leather,  grease,  tobacco-smoke,  and  Heaven 
knows  what  besides.  The  stove  was  alight.  He 
brought  forward  a  Windsor  arm-chair,  and  bade  me 
sit  down  near  it. 

''  For  'tis  chill,"  he  said,  "  an  ye're  no  too  grand 
on  your  legs  yet.  But  I  kenned  you  coom,  sir,  gin 
you  could  walk,  so  bid  to  make  t'  fire  'oop.  Seeing  it 
were  best,  an'  coom  you  could,  we  should  ha'  our 
crack  here  than  i'  the  house — for  'odds,  sir,  walls 
have  ears  at  Hover,  if  ears  walls  ever  had." 

'*  Too  true,  Warcop,"  I  answered,  sadly  enough. 
''  So  you  have  heard  what  has  happened?  " 

"  And  more  than's  happened,  as  like  as  not." 

"  Most  probably,"  I  said. 

"  And  the  upshot  of  it  a'  is  ye  leave  Hover?  " 

"  How  can  I  do  otherwise  ?  My  presence  here  can 
only  increase  the  breach  between  Lord  Hartover  and 
his  father,  as  long  as  the  earl  believes  I  encourage 
the  boy  In  his  affection  for  Miss  Braithwalte.  I  can 
only  give  you  my  word  that,  until  the  day  before 
yesterday,  when  Lord  Hartover  spoke  to  me  about 


1 82  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

the  matter  himself,  I  had  not  the  faintest  suspicion 
he  had  ever  given  the  young  lady  a  thought." 

"  Better  give  her  a  thought  than  some  nearer 
home,"  quoth  Warcop.  "'  But  t'  story  goes  the  lass 
has  been  setting  her  cap  at  him  these  three  months 
past." 

"  Then  the  story  is  a  very  wicked  lie,"  I  answered. 
"  I  have  been  with  him  constantly,  and  I  know  that, 
at  most,  he  has  spoken  to  her  thrice.  Who  has  dared 
to  set  that  rumour  afloat?  I  advise  them  to  have  a 
care,  for  if  Lord  Hartover  hears  of  it  they  will 
assuredly  meet  with  the  same  fate  at  his  hands  as 
Mr.  Halidane  did  two  days  ago." 

Warcop  chuckled. 

"  'Deed,  but  t'  lad  put  up  a  bonny  fight !  "  he  said 
with  evident  relish.  "  An'  that's  to  your  credit,  sir, 
for  ye've  kept  him  fra  t'  drink,  kept  him  clean  body 
an'  sowl,  and  gotten  far  to  make  a  man  o'  him — God 
bless  you  for  it,  an'  He  will.  But  it's  sair  news  ye're 
leaving  us,  for  t'  lad's  young  in  clean  ways  yet.  Can 
ye  trust  him  to  stan'  alone?  Trust  him,  an'  ye're 
gone,  to  keep  straight?  " 

*'  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know,"  I  cried,  putting  my 
hands  over  my  face.  "  There  you  touch  me  home, 
Warcop.  That's  where  the  whole  thing  cuts  me. 
Still  I  only  forestall  our  parting  by  a  few  months,  for 
her  ladyship  tells  me  he  is  to  join  the  Life  Guards 
next  spring  in  any  case.  Lord  Longmoor  had 
already  determined  he  should  do  so,  and  this  unfor- 
tunate business  will  assuredly  make  him  more  reso- 
lute the  boy  should  leave  home  than  ever." 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  183 

Warcop  remained  silent  for  a  good  couple  of  min- 
utes.   He  screwed  up  his  mouth,  scratched  his  head. 

*'  I've  tried  an'  I've  tried,"  he  said  at  last;  "  an' 
it  beats  me.  I  can't  fathom  it.  Between  puking 
fools  and  canting  knaves,  and  fly-by-night  wantons 
and  rakes,  what  is't  they  want  to  do  wi'  t'  lad?  " 

I  started;  for  had  I  not  asked  myself  just  that 
question,  though  in  less  unvarnished  language,  a  hun- 
dred times?  Had  not  Hartover,  indeed,  asked  it 
himself? 

"  Is  it  that  you  cannot,  or  that  you  will  not,  fathom 
it,  Warcop?  "  I  said,  scenting  his  Yorkshire  caution 
and  trying  to  bring  him  to  the  point.  For  I  felt  if 
any  man  living  could  explain  the  ugly  problem  he 
could. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  he  answered,  looking  me  full  in  the 
face.  "  I'd  tell  ye,  gin  I  kenned  myself,  fast  enough, 
an'  it  would  help  you  or  t'  lad.  But  I  dinna,  sir, 
though  most  ungodly  fears  ha'  crossed  my  mind. 
But  this  I  can  tell  ye,  there's  some  new  game  up  be- 
twixt Mamzell  and  Mr.  Marsigll,  ever  since  my  lady 
had  them  both  up  to  town  wi'  her  last  Whitsun.  By 
times  they're  as  thick  as  thieves  " — he  dwelt  on  the 
last  word  meaningly.  "  By  times  they  fight  like  cat 
and  dog,  or  " — he  glanced  at  me — "  like  man  and 
wife,  sir." 

I  pressed  him  to  be  explicit;  and  he  told  me  that  In 
his  opinion  Marsigll  had  some  hold  over  Made- 
moiselle Fedore,  against  which  she  rebelled.  It  was 
she  who  had  put  about  the  evil  story  concerning 
Nellie  Braithwalte's  efforts  to  entrap  Hartover.    Did 


1 84  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

she  intend  to  make  her  profit  out  of  the  business,  and 
did  Marsigli  stand  in  the  way  of  her  carrying  out 
that  intention?  A  violent  quarrel  had  taken  place 
between  the  couple,  upon  whom  Warcop  had  come, 
unexpectedly,  in  one  of  the  shrubberies  near  the 
stables  in  the  dusk  last  evening.  It  had  gone  forward 
in  mixed  French  and  Italian,  so  that  he  could  gather 
little  of  the  actual  subject  under  discussion;  but  Hart- 
over's  name  had  occurred,  and  so  had  mine. 

"  An'  the  French  she-devil  flounced  off  In  a  fine 
taking,  an'  cannoned  right  into  me  round  t'  corner  o' 
a  yew  hedge,  which  sobered  her  a  bit,  I  promise  you," 
Warcop  added,  with  a  chuckle. 

But  time  pressed.  I  dared  not  linger.  The  mail 
stopped  at  the  Longmoor  Hunt  Inn  at  ten  o'clock, 
and  I  had  to  make  my  final  preparations  before  get- 
ting Warcop  to  drive  me  there  to  meet  it.  For  I  had 
settled  to  go  straight  back  to  Cambridge  and  talk 
over  everything — save  one  thing  which  should  lie 
secret  in  my  own  heart — with  the  kind  old  Master 
and  ask  his  advice.  I  had  spent  but  little  of  my  sal- 
ary, and  had  more  than  enough  in  hand  to  supply  all 
my  simple  wants  until  I  could  find  work.  Yet  the 
future,  I  confess,  looked  very  black.  My  hopes  were 
dashed,  my  promised  security  had  vanished.  In  leav- 
ing Hover  I  left,  not  only  comfort,  many  Interests 
and  pleasures,  a  spacious  and  stately  way  of  life,  but 
the  human  beings  who  were  dearest  to  me  on  earth. 
I  dared  not  dwell  upon  that,  lest  It  should  unman  me 
completely.  I  must  cut  my  farewells  as  short  as  pos- 
sible.   To  Hartover  I  represented  our  separation  as 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  185 

temporary — a  fiction,  as  I  knew,  but  a  pardonable 
one  under  the  circumstances. 

He  wanted,  dear  boy,  to  drive  me  to  the  little 
country  town  and  see  me  off.  But  I  implored  him  to 
spare  both  himself  and  me  this  added  wretchedness. 
Let  me  go  quietly,  alone  with  Warcop.  Let  there  be 
no  demonstration,  no  fuss.  All  that  he  said  to  me, 
in  his  loving  generous  way,  I  remember  and  always 
shall  remember.  Undeserved,  exaggerated  though  I 
knew  it  to  be,  it  went  far  to  sweeten  my  very  bitter 
cup.  He  broke  down  utterly  at  last,  flung  his  arms 
round  me  and  cried  upon  my  breast,  promising  me, 
like  a  child,  that  he  "  would  be  good,"  be  good,  for- 
sooth, until  I  came  back. 

And  I  left  him  in  the  study,  where  we  had  spent  so 
many  and  such  varied  hours  together — and  thus,  in 
disappointment  and  apparent  failure,  closed  that 
eventful  section  of  my  life. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

And  now  I  was  safe  back  at  Cambridge  again.  Safe 
in  my  own  old  rooms,  among  my  old  friends,  wel- 
comed with  open  arms  by  the  good  Master  and  Fel- 
lows. To  the  Master  I  told  my  tale,  both  of  success 
and  failure — only  not  mentioning  my  own  aflair  of 
the  heart.  That  was  my  private  joy,  my  private 
sorrow,  to  be  told  to  no  man,  no  counseller,  however 
benevolent  and  sympathetic.  And  both  sympathetic 
and  benevolent  the  dear  old  Master  proved  himself. 
He  made  arrangements  by  which  all  College  fees 
were  lessened,  and — out  of  his  own  pocket — paid 
certain  charges,  so  that  I  need  make  but  slight  Inroad 
upon  my  little  capital.  I  was  touched  and  astonished 
by  his  generosity  and  the  affection  he  showed  me. 
Had  I  been  his  son,  he  could  hardly  have  taken 
warmer  interest  in  my  well-being. 

But  if  I  was  astonished  by  the  Master's  generosity, 
I  was  still  more  astonished  by  a  letter  which  reached 
me  ere  the  week  was  out  from  none  other  than  Lady 
Longmoor  herself. 

She  was  ''  toiite  eploree,*^  she  wrote,  "  at  my  de- 
parture, but  admired  me  for  it.  It  was  just  like  me, 
acting  from  too  high  a  sense  of  honour.  She  knew 
it  was  hopeless  to  ask  me  to  return." 

Why  not  try,  whether  hopeless  or  not,  by  experi- 
ment— I  thought. 

1 86 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  187 

"  Perhaps  while  his  lordship  was  still  under  the 
influence  of  recent  painful  scenes  I  had  better  not 
return.  All  she  and  her  dear  George  could  do  was 
to  show  their  gratitude  to  me  in  a  practical  way  for 
the  many  "  etc.,  etc.  And  there  was  a  cheque  for  my 
salary  to  the  year's  end  and  a  hundred  pounds  more. 
I  was  to  "  draw  on  Lord  Longmoor's  bankers  for  a 
hundred  each  year  until  I  left  Cambridge.  This  was 
her  dear  George's  plan,  so  I  need  feel  no  hesitation 
in  accepting  it.  He  insisted  on  my  going  back  to 
College " 

I  pondered  long  over  this  letter.  It  had  evidently 
been  composed  with  great  care ;  and  though  here  and 
there  a  word  was,  of  course,  misspelt,  it  was  a  far 
more  brilliant  specimen  of  Enghsh  prose  than  I  had 
ever  before  seen  from  the  same  hand.  What  time 
and  trouble  it  must  have  cost  the  poor  lady,  thought 
I !  Plainly  she  considered  herself  a  little  in  my 
power,  and  was  willing  to  keep  on  good  terms 
with  me. 

But  my  surprise  knew  no  bounds  when  I  came  to 
this  postscript: — "  I  may  tell  you  in  confidence  that 
I  have  called  at  Mere  Ban  and  seen  the  lovely  shep- 
herdess. Such  a  beauty !  Such  grace !  Such  sim- 
plicity !  Such  sensibility !  When  I  looked  at  her  how 
could  I  but  sympathise  " — this  word  she  had  much 
deformed — "  with  dearest  Hartover !  What  would 
I  not  do  to  help  him?  We  must  trust  that  all  will 
turn  out  well  yet.  At  least,  whatever  happens,  we 
know  that  he  has  a  friend  in  you.'* 


1 88  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

Doubtless — ^but  what  could  have  induced  her  to 
look  favourably  on  a  marriage  between  her  stepson 
and  Nellie?  I  puzzled  my  poor  brains  over  this 
extraordinary  development  for  many  days,  but  found 
myself  no  nearer  to  a  rational  solution  than  when  I 
started.  However,  I  knew  enough  of  the  fair  siren, 
by  now,  to  be  suspicious  of  her  enthusiasm  and  en- 
couragement and,  muttering  to  myself,  *'  Timeo 
Danaos  et  dona  ferentes^  I  left  honest  time  to  un- 
ravel the  mystery. 

And  so  I  settled  back  into  the  University  routine. 
Sat  in  the  same  lecture-rooms,  contended  with  the 
same  problems,  took  my  constitutional  along  the 
same  Wrangler's  Walk,  or  watched  the  moonlight 
shadows  among  the  same  noble  elms,  trying  to  forget 
the  experiences  of  the  last  two  years  and  take  up 
college  life  again  where  I  had  left  it.  Impossible. 
In  those  two  years  of  actual  time  I  had  grown  ten 
years  older.  I  had  gone  out  a  simple  lad.  I  had 
come  back,  if  not  a  man  of  the  world,  at  least  a  man 
forced  by  circumstance  into  self-resolve  and  self- 
restraint,  prudence  and — shall  I  say? — cunning.  Yes, 
I  had  seen  the  world.  And  dearly  had  I  bought  the 
sight.  The  price  was  that  burning  fire  within,  the 
fire  of  a  hopeless  love  which  consumed  me  night  and 
day.  True,  it  was  hopeless.  But  there  is  a  love 
which  no  more  needs  hope  to  feed  it  than  the  pres- 
ence of  the  beloved  one — a  love  which,  self-lighted 
and  inextinguishable,  burns  on  for  ever  without  other 
fuel  than  the  brain  of  its  victim.  Not  that  I  indulged 
my  fancy.    Not  that  I  played  weakly  and  luxuriously 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  189 

with  any  thoughts  of  what  might  have  been.  I  thrust 
them  from  me  sternly,  fiercely,  and  threw  myself  into 
my  reading,  and  read,  and  over-read.  It  was  simply 
that  her  face,  her  voice,  her  every  gesture,  never  left 
my  imagination — I  had  almost  said,  my  retina — for 
one  moment  of  time.  During  the  severest  mathemat- 
ical thought,  as  during  the  seemingly  soundest  sleep, 
I  was  always  conscious  of  her.  I  struggled,  I  prayed, 
to  put  the  image  away.  But  when,  after  many  strug- 
gles and  many  prayers,  I  found  that  it  would  not 
vanish,  I  let  it  be.  Had  God  put  it  there?  If  so, 
who  was  I  to  fight  against  God?  And,  if  so,  was  it 
not  there  for  a  purpose?  Was  I  not  doomed  thus 
always  to  bear  her  in  mind,  that  I  might  be  of  use 
to  her  hereafter?  That  thought  sprang  up  within 
me  and  gave  me  new  life.  Hitherto  I  had  been  read- 
ing without  any  high  or  even  clear  purpose,  from 
mere  mental  activity,  emulation,  the  desire  of  a  fel- 
lowship and  a  competence ;  but  now  I  began  to  read 
for  her.  I  took  my  degree  and  a  very  good  one — 
thank  Heaven  and  my  worthy  tutors — for  her.  I 
went  into  Holy  Orders  six  months  later;  and  when, 
within  eighteen  months  of  leaving  Hover,  found 
myself  a  Fellow  and  junior  tutor,  I  had  still  the 
paradoxical  instinct  that,  in  that  capacity,  I  was 
working  for  her  of  whom  I  had  heard  but  once  since 
I  left  the  north. 

But  once ; — for,  to  go  back  and  take  things  accord- 
ing to  the  order  of  time,  I  received  from  Braith- 
waite,  within  a  month  of  my  return  to  Cambridge, 
the  following  letter : — 


I90  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  My  dear  Brownlow, — I  am  sorry  to  part  with 
you;  but  part,  I  fear,  I  must.  You  still  belong  to 
that  Hartover  faction,  and  must  continue  to  do  so. 
It  is  your  interest  to  keep  well  with  them;  and  I  hap- 
pen to  know  that  you  stand  rather  better  with  them 
than  ever.  You  went  off  like  a  brave  lad,  as  you 
always  were,  and  I  like  you  for  it.  So  do  they;  for 
now  they  can  gallop  away  to  the  devil  comfortably, 
without  having  you  to  preach  to  them.  Any  rational 
people  would  have  asked  you  to  come  back;  but 
Lords  and  Ladies  can't  be  expected  to  behave  like 
ordinary  sane  human  beings.  Besides,  I  suppose  you 
have  still  in  your  head  some  fantastical  chivalrous 
notion  of  saving  that  poor  young  fool.  He  is  gone 
into  the  Guards,  and  hence  I  suppose  to  the  dogs. 
Anyway,  your  path  and  mine  lie  in  opposite  directions 
for  my  poor  Nellie's  sake.  Don't  be  angry  with  me. 
I've  learnt  a  lot  from  you,  and  I  flatter  myself  you've 
learnt  something  from  me;  and,  if  I  could  have  you 
without  them,  there  is  no  man  on  earth  I  would 
sooner  see  at  my  table.  But,  as  it  is,  I  have  thrown 
up  my  farm  here.  Made  a  capital  bargain,  too,  with 
the  incoming  tenant,  and  am  going  to  farm  elsewhere 
— I  won't  tell  even  you  where.  By  the  bye,  I  had 
an  amusing  interview  with  that  old  ape  of  an  Earl. 
I  got  admitted,  on  his  hearing  that  I  wanted  to  give 
up  the  farm;  told  him  plainly  that  I  did  not  think 
it  good  to  stay  in  the  neighbourhood  after  what  had 
happened,  at  which  he  vouchsafed  to  say  that  I  had 
behaved  like  a  gentleman.  But  when  I  let  him 
know — as  I  took  care  to  do — that  I  had  quite  as 
much  objection  to  his  son's  marrying  my  daughter  as 
he  himself  could  have,  I  '  touched  his  witness,'  as  we 
Quakers  used  to  say,  a  little  too  shrewdly  and  put 
him  into  a  boiling  rage.  The  miserable  lump  of  pride 
wanted  me,  forsooth,  to  look  on  it  all  as  a  mighty 
honour,  and  leave  him  all  the  glory  of  despising  me. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  191 

So  I  told  him  it  was  a  strange  world  where  two  men 
must  needs  quarrel  just  because  they  agreed  exactly, 
and  bowed  myself  out. 

"  God  bless  you.  You  will  prosper  wherever  you 
are,  and  die  a  fat  pluralist  with  three  livings  and  a 
stall.    Nellie  sends  her  best  love." 

Her  best  love?  I  knew  better.  And  perhaps  he 
knew  better  too ;  but  it  was  a  comfort  to  think  that 
she  remembered  me  kindly. 

Then  came  letters  from  the  dear  boy.  At  first  fre- 
quent, affectionate,  even  passionate;  always  full  of 
Nellie,  and  tearing  my  heart-strings  thereby.  But 
after  a  while  they  grew  fewer,  and,  though  by  almost 
imperceptible  degrees,  colder.  What  wonder?  I 
saw  that  his  affection  for  me  was  dying  out  before 
the  influx  of  new  scenes,  new  hopes  and  pleasures 
alas!  For  he  was  in  the  Guards  now,  and  in  the 
thickest  whirl  of  London  life.  At  last  his  letters 
ceased  entirely,  and  over  a  year  passed  without  a  line. 
I  tried  to  find  out  from  the  Master  how  he  was.  But 
he  knew  nothing.  "  Lord  Hartover  was  very  much 
admired,  he  believed,  in  society,  and  very  successful." 
Anything  more  the  good  man  could  not,  or  would 
not,  tell  me. 

My  heart  was  very  heavy  when  his  letters  ceased, 
for  still  the  boy  charmed  me.  The  thought  of  his 
beauty,  his  natural  cleverness,  the  gallant  way  he  had 
with  him,  the  great  destiny  to  which  he  was  called — 
could  he  but  meet  and  rise  to  it — captivated  my  im- 
agination. I  was  jealous  of  his  affection,  jealous  of 
his  remembrance;  and  now  it  seemed  he  had  forgot- 


192  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

ten  me  and  that  I  had  passed  altogether  out  of  his 
life.  I  could  only  trust  and  pray  that  he  had  not  for- 
gotten all  I  had  taught  him  likewise;  but  that  some 
lessons  of  chivalry,  duty,  self-respect  and  self- 
restraint  had  sunk  deep  enough  into  the  foundations 
of  his  mind  and  character  to  save  him  from  the  fate 
of  Alcibiades,  which  I  had  always  dreaded  for  him. 
I,  at  least,  never  forgot  him.  Night  and  morning, 
through  those  lonely  waiting  years,  I  prayed  for  him 
— and  for  her  whom  he  loved,  though  to  my  own  so 
great  discomfiture  and  loss. 

Had  he  forgotten  her  too?  I  wondered.  Some- 
times I  hoped  he  had;  that  his  was  merely  a  boy's 
passion  which,  lightly  coming,  would  also  lightly  go 
and  leave  her  free.  Free  for  me?  Ah,  selfish  and 
disloyal  thought !  For  I  was  pursued  by  the  belief — 
though  it  may  seem  a  far-fetched  folly — that  in  for- 
getting her  he  would  become  a  worse  and  weaker 
man.  That  love  for  her  might  hold  him  to  one  en- 
nobling purpose ;  while,  letting  slip  that  purpose,  he 
might  drift  down  into  base  promiscuous  pleasures, 
and  end,  too  likely,  in  some  loveless  manage  de  con- 
venance  blunting  to  all  the  finer  sensibilities  and 
aspirations  of  his  nature  and  his  soul.  How  many 
scores  of  worldly  scheming  mothers  were  even  now 
baiting  their  hooks  to  catch  him;  careless  whether, 
once  they  had  secured  a  daughter's  position,  a  title 
and  great  wealth,  that  daughter  found  herself 
neglected  for  women  of  no  repute.  Hundreds  of 
young  men,  in  the  great  world  to  which  Hartover 
belonged,  ran  that  ugly  course,  and  why  not  he? 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  193 

And  this  thing,  also,  troubled  me,  adding  to  my 
heaviness  of  heart,  and  thereby,  perhaps  perversely 
feeding,  my  secret  passion.  For  I  believed  that,  even 
though  he  forgot  Nellie,  she  would  not  forget  him. 
I  knew,  or  fancied  I  knew,  her  strength  and  stead- 
fastness too  well.  Once  giving  her  love,  she  gave  it 
for  good  and  all.  I  should,  indeed,  have  been  sorry, 
^shamed — ^paradoxical  as  it  may  seem — that  she 
should  forget  him.  It  would  have  lowered  her  In 
my  eyes,  and  that  I  could  not  bear.  So  it  became  an 
integral  element  of  my  fantastic  inner  life  to  con- 
ceive of  her  loving  him  as  deeply,  eternally,  even 
though  hopelessly,  as  I  loved  her.  I  knew,  or  be- 
lieved I  knew,  her  love  was  pure,  that  no  stain  of 
selfishness  or  ambition  was  upon  it — that  she  would 
have  felt  for  him  all  that  she  now  felt  had  he  been  a 
simple  yeoman,  one  of  her  own  class  and  social  kin. 
And  as  long  as  I  could  believe  this,  her  love  for 
Hartover  threw  a  fresh  grace  and  glory  round  the 
dear  image  which  I  worshipped. 

No — whatever  happened  she  must  love  him  wholly 
and  solely  still,  and  I  must  find  a  mystic  delight  in  my 
own  despair. 

Meanwhile,  something  happened  which  vexed  me  a 
little  at  first,  amused  me  much  after  a  while,  and 
finally  became  of  very  serious  moment  both  to  myself 
and  to  others. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

It  was  the  beginning  of  the  Lent  term.  I  had  stayed 
up  during  the  vacation,  my  college  being  also  my 
home.  And  during  that  vacation  a  weight  of  loneli- 
ness descended  upon  me.  This  was  wrong,  since  had 
I  not  very  much  to  be  thankful  for?  My  position 
was  a  secure,  and,  from  the  university  standpoint,  an 
even  brilliant  one.  I  liked  my  work.  It  interested 
me.  Yet,  in  some  aspects,  this  university  life 
seemed  to  me  narrow.  It  pained  me  to  see  old  faces 
depart,  and  new  ones  enter  who  knew  naught  of  me. 
Other  men  halted  here,  but  for  a  while,  on  their  life's 
journey,  moving  forward  to  meet  the  larger  issues, 
to  seek  "  fresh  fields  and  pastures  new."  And  I  re- 
mained— as  one,  held  up  by  accident,  remains  at 
some  half-way  house,  seeing  the  stream  of  traffic  and 
of  wayfarers  sweep  for  ever  forward  along  the  great 
crowded  highroad,  and  pass  him  by. 

If  I  had  not  had  that  break  in  my  university  course, 
if  I  had  not  spent  those  two  years  at  Hover  in  a 
society  and  amid  interests  and  occupations — pleas- 
ures, let  me  put  it  roundly — foreign  to  my  own  social 
sphere,  Cambridge,  and  all  Cambridge  stood  for, 
would  not  probably  have  palled  upon  me.  But  I 
had  beheld  wider  horizons;  beheld  them,  moreover, 
through  the  windows  of  an  eftchanted  castle.  Thus 
memory  cast  its  shadow  over  the  present,  making  me 

194 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  ^195 

— It  was  faithless,  ungrateful,  I  had  nearly  said,  sin- 
ful— dissatisfied  and  sad. 

However,  being  in  good  health,  I  was  not  too  sad 
to  eat  a  good  dinner;  and  so,  one  fine  day  at  the 
beginning  of  term,  when  the  bell  rang  for  hall,  I 
crossed  the  quadrangle  and  went  In — or  went  rather 
to  the  door,  and  there  stopped  short.  For,  face  to 
face,  I  met  none  other  than  Mr.  Halidane,  In  all 
the  glory  of  a  freshman's  brand-new  gown. 

"Ah!  Mr.  Brownlow,"  he  exclaimed,  with  his 
blandest  and  most  beaming  smile,  "  It  Is  Indeed  a 
gracious  dispensation  to  meet  you,  sir,  an  old  and 
valued  friend,  on  my  first  day  within  these  hallowed 
and  venerable  walls.  I  feared  you  might  not  have 
come  up  yet.  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you  upon 
your  distinctions,  your  degree,  your  fellowship. 
With  what  gladness  have  I  heard  of  them,  have  I 
welcomed  the  news  of  your  successful  progress.  I 
trust  you  are  duly  thankful  to  an  over-ruling  Provi- 
dence !  " 

"  I  trust  I  am,"  quoth  I. 

I  believed  the  man  to  be  a  hypocrite.  He  had 
done  me  all  the  harm  he  could.  Yet,  what  with  my 
loneliness,  what  with  my  memories  of  that  enchanted 
castle,  I  could  not  but  be  moved  at  this  unexpected 
meeting  with  him.  I  choked  down  my  disgust,  my 
resentment  for  the  dirty  tricks  he  had  played  me, 
and  shaking  him  by  the  hand  asked  what  had  brought 
him  here. 

"  The  generosity  of  my  pious  patron,"  he  an- 
swered, casting  up  his  eyes  devoutly.    "  Ah !  what  do 


196  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

I  not  owe — under  Providence — to  that  true  orna- 
ment of  his  exalted  station  !  Through  his  condescend- 
ing liberality  I  am  enabled  to  fulfil  the  wish  long 
nearest  my  heart;  and  by  taking,  as  I  humbly  hope  in 
due  time,  Holy  Orders,  to  enter  upon  a  more  ex- 
tended sphere  of  Christian  and  national  usefulness." 

I  abstained  from  asking  how  he  had  suddenly  dis- 
covered the  Church  of  England  suited  his  religious 
convictions  and  abilities  better  than  the  sect  of  the 
"  Saints  indeed,"  and  contented  myself,  not  without  a 
beating  heart,  by  enquiring  after  Lord  Longmoor 
and  all  at  Hover. 

I  got  answers ;  but  none  that  I  wanted.  The  Earl 
was  perfection;  the  Countess  perfection;  even  for 
Colonel  Esdaile  he  had  three  or  four  superlatives. 
The  Countess,  he  trusted,  had  been  lately  brought  to 
the  knowledge  of  the  truth.  The  Colonel  only 
needed  to  be  brought  to  it — and  he  was  showing 
many  hopeful  signs — to  be  more  than  mortal  man. — 
It  was  evidently  his  cue  to  approve  highly  of  Hover 
and  all  dwellers  therein.  And  when,  with  almost  a 
faltering  voice,  I  asked  news  of  my  dear  boy,  he 
broke  out  into  fresh  superlatives;  from  amid  the 
rank  growth  of  which  I  could  only  discover  that  Lord 
Hartover  was  a  very  dashing  and  popular  young  man 
about  town,  and  that  it  served  Mr.  Halidane's  pur- 
pose to  approve — or  seem  to  approve — of  his  being 
such. 

*'  The  pomps  and  vanities  of  this  wicked  world, 
you  know,  My  dear  Brownlow," — the  fellow  began 
to  drop  the  "  Mr."  now — "  the  pomps  and  vanities — 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  197 

but  we  must  make  allowances  for  youth — and  those 
to  whom  little  is  given,  you  know,  of  them  will  little 
be  required." 

"  Little  given !  "  thought  I  with  a  shudder,  as  I 
contrasted  Halidane's  words  with  my  own  old  les- 
sons.— God  grant  that  this  fellow  may  not  have  had 
the  opportunity  of  undoing  all  the  good  which  I  had 
done !  I  made  the  boy  believe  once  that  very  much 
had  been  given  him. — But  I  said  nothing.  Why 
waste  words  where  the  conversation  will  never  go 
deeper  than  words. 

So  we  went  in  to  hall  together;  and,  what  was 
more,  came  out  together,  for  it  was  plainly  Mr.  Hali- 
dane's plan  to  quarter  himself  upon  me,  physically 
and  morally — physically,  in  that  he  came  up  into  my 
rooms  and  sat  down  therein,  his  countenance  falling 
when  he  perceived  that  I  brought  out  no  wine. 

"  You  are  a  Nazarite  still?  "  he  said  at  last,  after 
looking  uneasily  several  times  towards  door  and  cup- 
board. 

"  I  am,  indeed,"  I  replied,  amused  at  his  inability 
to  keep  his  own  counsel. 

"  Ah — well.  All  the  more  freedom,  then,  for  the 
wine  of  the  Spirit.  I  trust  that  we  shall  have  gra- 
cious converse  together  often,  my  dear  Brownlow, 
and  edify  one  another  with  talk  of  that  which  belongs 
to  our  souls'  health  as  we  wander  through  this  wilder- 
ness of  tears." 

I  replied  by  asking,  I  fear  a  little  slyly,  after  Lord 
Longmoor's  book  on  prophecy. 

"  As  was  to  be  expected — a  success,"  he  replied — 


198  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  a  magnificent  success,  though  I  say  so.  Not  per- 
haps in  the  number  of  copies  sold.  But  what  is 
worldly  fame,  and  how  can  we  expect  the  carnal  man 
to  favour  spiritual  things?  Not,  again,  from  a 
pecuniary  point  of  view.  But  what  is  filthy  lucre? 
His  lordship's  philanthropy  has  enabled  him,  so  to 
speak,  to  make  the  book  a  present,  a  free  gift  to  the 
elect.  No,  not  in  such  material  gains  as  Christians 
will  leave  to  the  unsanctified,  to  a  Scott  or  a  Byron, 
does  success  lie ;  but  in  the  cause  of  the  Gospel.  And, 
if  humble  I  have  been  instrumental  to  that  success, 
either  in  assisting  his  lordship's  deeper  intellect,  as 
the  mouse  might  the  lion,  or  in  having  the  book  prop- 
erly pushed  in  certain  Gospel  quarters  where  I  have 
a  little  unworthy  influence — (Unworthy  indeed,  I 
doubt  not,  thought  I!) — "why,  then — have  I  not 
my  reward — I  say,  have  I  not  my  reward?  " 

I  thought  he  certainly  had.  For  being  aware  he 
wrote  the  whole  book  himself,  and  tacked  his 
patron's  name  to  it,  I  began  to  suspect  shrewdly  he 
had  been  franked  at  College  as  hush  money,  the  book 
being  a  dead  failure. 

And  so  I  told  the  good  old  Master  next  day,  who 
slapped  his  thigh  and  chuckled,  and  then  scolded  me 
for  an  impudent  truth-speaking  fellow  who  would 
come  to  ruin  by  his  honesty. 

I  assured  him  that  I  should  tell  no  one  but  him, 
having  discovered  at  Hover  that  the  wisdom  of  the 
serpent  was  compatible  with  the  innocence  of  the 
dove,  and  that  I  expected  to  need  both  in  my  dealing 
with  Mr.  Halidane. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  199 

"  Why,  I  understood  that  he  was  an  Intimate 
friend  of  yours.  He  told  me  that  your  being  here 
was  one  of  the  main  reasons  for  his  choosing  this 
College.  He  entreated  humbly  to  be  allowed  rooms 
as  near  you  as  possible.  So — as  he  came  with  the 
highest  recommendations  from  Lord  Longmoor — 
we  have  put  him  just  over  your  head !  " 

I  groaned  audibly. 

"  What's  the  matter?  He  Is  not  given  to  playing 
skittles,  or  practising  the  fiddle  at  midnight,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Heavens,  no!  " 

But  I  groaned  again,  at  the  thought  of  having 
Halldane  tied  to  me,  riding  me  pIck-a-back  as  the  old 
man  of  the  sea  did  SIndbad,  for  three  years  to  come. 
In  explanation  I  told  the  Master  a  good  deal  of  what 
I  knew.  About  Nellie,  however,  I  still  said  not  one 
word. 

The  Master  smiled  mischievously. 

''  I  suspect  the  object  of  his  sudden  conversion 
from  sectarianism  is  one  of  my  lord's  fat  livings. 
You  may  see  him  a  bishop  yet,  Brownlow,  for  a  poor 
opinion  of  his  own  merits  will  never  stand  in  the  way 
of  his  promotion. — Well,  I  will  keep  my  eye  on  this 
promising  convert  to  the  Church  of  England  as  by 
Law  Established,  meanwhile — and  you  may  do  the 
same  if  you  like." 

I  did  like — the  more  so  because  I  found  him,  again 
and  again,  drawing  round  to  the  subject  of  Mr. 
Braithwalte  and  of  Nellie.  He  slipped  away 
smoothly  enough  when  he  saw  I  avoided  the  matter, 
complimenting  me  greasily  upon  my  delicacy  and  dis- 


200  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

cretlon.  I  was  torn  two  ways — by  longing  to  hear 
something  of  both  father  and  daughter,  and  repul- 
sion that  this  man  should  soil  the  name  of  her  whom 
I  loved  by  so  much  as  daring  to  pronounce  it.  But 
of  all  living  creatures  lovers  are  the  most  self-con- 
tradictory, fearing  the  thing  they  desire,  desiring  that 
which  they  fear. 

At  last  one  day,  when  he  had  invaded  my  rooms 
after  hall,  he  said  something  which  forced  me  to 
talk  about  Hover  with  him.  He  had  been  praising, 
in  his  fulsome  fashion,  Mademoiselle  Fedore  among 
the  rest.  She  too,  it  appeared,  was  under  gracious 
influences,  aware  of  her  soul's  danger  and  all  but  con- 
verted— the  very  dogs  and  cats  of  the  house  were 
qualifying  for  salvation,  I  believe,  in  his  suddenly 
charitable  eyes.  He  finished  up  with — "  And  how 
nobly  the  poor  thing  behaved,  too,  when  that  villain 
Marsigli  absconded." 

"  Marsigli  absconded?  "  I  exclaimed,  in  great  sur- 
prise. 

"  Of  course — ^I  thought  you  knew " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  what  happened  at  Hover 
now,"  I  said,  foolishly  allowing  bitterness  to  get  the 
better  of  caution. 

"  No — you  don't  tell  me  so ! — Really,  very 
strange,"  and  he  eyed  me  sharply.  "  But  the  facts 
are  simple  and  lamentable  enough.  This  villain,  this 
viper,  the  trusted  and  pampered  servant — for  far  too 
much  kindness  had  been  lavished  upon  him  by  my 
lord  and  lady,  as  upon  all — yes,  all — my  unworthy 
self  included. — How   refreshing,   how  inspiring  is 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  201 

condescension  In  the  great! — This  pampered  menial, 
I  say — ah !  what  a  thing  Is  human  nature  when  unre- 
generate ! — as  was  to  be  expected — for  what  after 
all,  my  dear  Brownlow,  can  you  hope  from  a  Papist? 
— disappeared  one  fine  morning,  and  with  him  jewels 
and  plate — plate  belonging  to  our  sainted  friend 
and  patron,  in  whose  service  the  viper  had  fat- 
tened so  long,  to  the  amount  of  four  thousand 
pounds." 

I  listened  In  deepening  Interest. 

''  This  Is  serious,"  I  said.  "  Has  any  of  the  prop- 
erty been  traced  and  recovered?  " 

"  Not  one  brass  farthing's  worth." 

"  And  is  there  no  clew?  " 

"  None,  alas !  save  what  Mademoiselle  Fedore 
gave.  With  wonderful  subtlety  and  instinct — Ah! 
that  It  were  further  quickened  by  divine  grace ! — 
she  pieced  together  little  incidents,  little  trifling  indi- 
cations, which  enabled  the  police  to  track  the  miscre- 
ant as  far  as  Liverpool.  But,  after  that,  no  trace. 
They  concluded  he  must  have  sailed  for  America, 
where  he  is  doubtless  even  now  wantoning,  amid  the 
licentious  democracy  of  the  West,  upon  the  plunder 
of  the  saints." 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  appeared  to 
weep. 

I  remained  silent,  greatly  perturbed  In  mind.  For 
there  flashed  across  me  those  words  of  Warcop's 
spoken  on  the  morning  of  my  departure,  when  I  sat 
with  him  In  his  sanctum,  dedicated  to  the  mysteries 
of  the  stud-farm  and  the  chase:    "  By  times  they — 


202  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

Marslgli  and  Mamzell — are  as  thick  as  thieves.  By 
times  they  fight  like  cat  and  dog  or  " — with  a  know- 
ing look — "  like  man  and  wife/'  There  flashed 
across  me,  too,  a  strange  speech  of  Fedore's  I  had 
overheard,  as  I  walked  along  one  of  the  Innumerable 
dimly  lighted  passages  at  Hover,  one  night,  on  my 
way  from  the  library,  where  I  had  worked  late,  to 
my  own  study.  To  whom  she  spoke  I  did  not  know, 
for  a  door  was  hastily  closed  Immediately  I  passed, 
though  not  hastily  enough  to  prevent  my  hearing  a 
man's  voice  answer. — "Ah!  you  great  stupid,"  she 
had  said.  "  Why  not  what  these  English  call  feather 
your  own  nest?  I  have  no  patience  with  you  when, 
If  you  pleased,  you  could  so  easily  be  rich." — The 
episode  made  an  unpleasant  Impression  upon  me  at 
the  time,  but  had  almost  faded  from  my  mind.  Now 
In  the  light  of  my  conversation  with  Halldane  it 
sprang  Into  vivid  relief. 

The  loss  of  a  few  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  jew- 
els and  plate  was  a  small  matter.  But  that  Made- 
moiselle Fedore  should  remain  In  the  household  as 
Marslgll's  accomplice — and  that  she  was  his  accom- 
plice I  suspected  gravely — perhaps  to  regain  her 
power  over  the  boy,  was  Intolerable.  As  to  her 
assisting  the  police  by  pointing  out  the  probable  route 
of  the  delinquent,  what  easier  than  to  do  so  with  a 
view  to  putting  them  on  a  false  scent? 

"  This  is  indeed  ugly  news,"  I  said  at  last.  ''  I 
wonder  if  the  Master  knows." 

"  Why  not?    It  was  reported  in  the  papers  at  the 


THE  TUTOR^S  STORY  203 

*'  Ah !  and  I  was  absorbed  in  my  work  and  missed 
it.     How  unfortunate  !  " 

''  Do  you  think  you  know  anything,  then?  "  he  said 
greedily,  with  sharp  interest. 

But  the  question  I  did  not  answer,  perceiving  he 
was  curiously  anxious  to  be  taken  into  my  confidence. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

I  SAT  long,  till  the  fire  In  the  grate  burnt  low  and  the 
chill  of  the  winter  night  drove  me  shivering  to  my 
bed,  revolving  this  conversation  In  my  mind.  If  it 
could  be  proved  that  Mademoiselle  Fedore  was  In 
league  with  the  Italian,  still  more,  if  It  could  be 
proved  she  and  he  were  married,  Hartover  could  be 
permanently  set  free  from  her  Intrigues  and  her  In- 
fluence. I  did  not  want  to  be  vindictive;  but  with 
every  fibre  of  my  being  I  wanted  to  free  the  boy. 
For,  as  I  realised  In  those  lonely  midnight  hours, 
while  the  wind  rumbled  In  the  chimneys  and  roared 
through  the  bare  branches  of  the  elms  In  the  Fel- 
lows' Garden  just  without,  the  boy's  redemption,  the 
boy's  growth  Into  the  fine  and  splendid  character  he 
might  be,  could  be — as  I  believed — even  yet,  was 
dearer  to  me  than  any  advantage  of  my  own. 

Had  I  not  promised,  moreover,  to  stand  by  him 
and  help  him  to  the  end?  Could  I  then.  In  honour, 
sit  with  folded  hands,  when  the  chance,  however  re- 
mote, of  helping  him  presented  itself?  I  had  always 
feared  Mademoiselle  Fedore  had  not  relinquished 
her  designs  on  the  boy,  but  merely  bided  her  time. 
For  a  while  my  presence  frustrated  those  designs; 
as,  In  even  greater  degree,  did  his  passion  for  Nellie 
Braithwalte.  But  marriage  with  Nellie  forbidden, 
and  he  surrounded,  as  he  must  be,  by  the  flatteries 

204 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  205 

lavished  on,  and  snares  set  for,  a  rich  and  popular 
young  nobleman  In  London,  was  it  not  too  probable 
that  in  hours  of  Idleness  or  reaction  from  dissipation 
she  might  gain  an  ascendency  over  him  once  more? 
Not  only  self-interest  was  Involved.  He  being  what 
he  was,  might  she  not  only  too  easily  fall  genuinely 
in  love  with  him?  I  would  give  her  the  benefit  of 
the  doubt,  anyhow.  Upon  the  exact  nature  of  that 
love,  whether  of  the  higher,  or  the  baser  and  animal 
sort,  I  did  not  choose  to  dwell.  The  difference  in 
age,  too,  struck  me  now — more  versed  as  I  had 
grown  In  the  ways  of  the  world  and  of  human  nature 
— as  no  bar  to  inclination  on  his  part.  She  was  a 
clever  woman  and  a  beautiful  one,  of  a  voluptuous 
though  somewhat  hard  type — to  the  Empress  Theo- 
dora I  had  often  compared  her  In  my  own  mind. 
Further,  as  Warcop  said  to  me  long  ago,  did  not 
"the  she-kite  know  her  business?" — Alas!  and  for 
certain,  only  too  well ! 

So  sitting  there,  through  the  lonely  hours,  the  idea 
grew  on  me  that  the  boy  was  actually  in  very  grave 
peril;  and  that — neglect  and  silence  notwithstanding 
— In  his  innermost  heart  he  clung  to  me,  and  to  the 
lessons  of  duty  and  noble  living  which  I  had  taught 
him,  still.  This  Idea  might,  as  I  told  myself,  be  a 
mere  refinement  of  personal  vanity  and  egoism. 
Yet  I  could  not  put  it  aside.  If  he  called,  even  un- 
consciously, and  I  failed  to  answer,  a  sin  of  omission 
and  a  heavy  one  would  assuredly  lie  at  my  door. 

Finally  I  decided  to  seek  counsel  of  my  kind  old 
friend,  the  Master.     The  opportunity  of  doing  so 


2o6  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

presented  next  day.  For  the  Master  had  bidden  me 
to  a  dinner  party  at  the  Lodge,  given  in  honour  of  his 
widowed  sister  and  her  daughters,  who  were  staying 
with  him.  This  flutter  of  petticoats  in  our  bachelor, 
not  to  say  monastic,  atmosphere  produced  in  some 
quarters,  I  had  reason  to  fancy,  a  corresponding 
flutter  of  hearts.  Ladies  were  conspicuous  by  their 
absence  in  the  Cambridge  of  those  days,  save  during 
the  festivities  of  the  May  term;  and  I  own  to  a  cer- 
tain feeling  of  mild  elation  as  I  found  myself  seated 
beside  Miss  Alice  Dynevor,  the  elder  of  the  two 
young  ladies,  at  the  Master's  hospitable  board. 

I  cannot  assert  that  she  appeared  to  be  remarkable 
either  for  good  looks  or  cleverness;  but  she  was  fresh 
and  young — about  twenty,  I  judged  her — modest  In 
manner,  and  evidently  desirous  to  please;  full  of  in- 
nocent questions  concerning  Cambridge  and  Cam- 
bridge ways,  concerning  our  famous  buildings,  their 
names  and  histories,  which  I  found  It  pleasant  enough 
to  answer.  In  the  drawing-room,  when  we  rejoined 
the  ladles  after  dinner,  she  went  to  the  piano,  at  her 
uncle's  request,  and  sang  some  Scotch  songs  and  some 
sentimental  ballads  then  much  in  vogue,  with  no 
great  art,  I  admit,  but  with  pleasing  simplicity  and  a 
tuneful  voice. 

The  evening  left  me  under  Impressions  at  once 
agreeable  and  not  a  little  sad.  For,  from  the  time  I 
returned  to  Cambridge,  I  had  hardly  spoken  to  a 
woman.  Doing  so  now,  memories  of  Mere  Ban  and 
of  Nellie  crowded  upon  me  thick  and  fast;  and, 
throwing  me  back  into  that  fantastic  Inner  life  of 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  207 

unsatisfied  and  consuming  love,  threw  me  also  into 
a  necessity  for  renewed  self-abnegation  and  self-tor- 
ment. At  all  costs  I  must  find  means  to  set  the  dear 
boy  free  of  Fedore's  influence — set  him  free — and 
for  what? 

I  stayed  after  the  other  guests  had  left  and  asked 
for  a  little  private  talk  with  the  Master;  recounted 
the  substance  of  my  conversation  with  Halidane  last 
night,  and  stated  my  own  convictions  and  the  ground 
of  them.  He  had  heard  of  Marsigli's  disappear- 
ance, but  had  not  mentioned  it  to  me  simply  because 
he  supposed  I  had  seen  it  in  the  newspapers.  I  was 
much  vexed  at  the  strange  oversight.  Had  I  but 
learned  it  at  the  time,  how  much  might  have  been 
saved !  How  much  truly — more  a  thousand  times 
than  I  then  imagined. — Yet  how  know  I  that  ?  No — 
I  will  believe  all  the  events  of  our  lives  are  well  or- 
dered, so  long  as  they  do  not  arise  from  our  wilful 
ill-doings ;  and  will  never  regret,  as  the  result  of  blind 
chance,  that  which  is  in  truth  the  education  given 
each  one  of  us,  for  our  soul's  good,  by  an  all-merciful 
and  all-wise  Father  in  Heaven. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

I  TOLD  the  Master  enough  for  him  to  agree  It  would 
be  well  I  should  go  to  town;  and  to  town  two  days 
later  I  went.  I  had  learned,  by  cautious  questioning 
of  Mr.  Halldane,  that  the  family  was  in  London,  as 
was  Hartover. 

So  I  made  my  way  to  the  great  house  in  Grosvenor 
Square,  which  was  not  altogether  unknown  to  me.  I 
had  stayed  there  once,  for  a  few  days,  with  the  dear 
boy,  during  the  time  of  my  tutorship;  and  to  my 
delectation  had  made  acquaintance  with  its  many 
treasures  in  the  matter  of  pictures,  furniture,  and 
ohjets  d^art.  Oh !  the  priceless  possessions  of  these 
people,  and  the  little  care  they  had  for  them ! 

The  men  servants,  who  received  me,  were  un- 
known to  me,  supercilious  in  manner  and  only  just 
not  insolent.  I  asked  for  my  young  lord.  He  was 
on  guard  at  St.  James's.  They  supposed  I  should 
hear  of  him  there.  Where  he  lived,  when  not  stay- 
ing here,  they  did  not  know. — Odd,  I  thought;  but 
the  ways  of  great  folks  were  odd  sometimes! 

I  took  a  coach  and  drove  to  the  Palace.  My  long- 
ing to  see  the  boy  again  was  very  strong;  yet  I  felt 
anxious.  Would  he  be  greatly  changed?  Would  he 
be  glad  or  would  he  think  my  coming  a  bore  ?  Above 
all,  how  would  he  take  my  interference  ?    A  sense  of 

208 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  209 

the  extreme  delicacy  of  my  mission  increased  on  me, 
making  me  nervous  and  diffident. 

An  orderly  ushered  me  into  a  room  where  half  a 
dozen  dandies  were  lounging.  These  stared  at  me 
sufficiently,  and  thought  me,  evidently,  a  dun.  One 
beardless  youth,  indeed,  after  brushing  past  me, 
turning  his  back  to  me,  and  otherwise  bristling  up 
like  a  dog  at  a  strange  dog,  expressed  his  opinion 
aloud. 

"  MacArthur !  "  to  the  orderly.  "Are  you  not 
aware  that  this  is  a  private  room?  " 

"  I  am  sorry,"  I  said  instantly,  for  their  imperti- 
nence restored  my  self-confidence,  "  if  I  am  intrud- 
ing. I  simply  asked  for  Lord  Hartover,  and  was,  as 
simply,  shown  in  here." 

I  thought  the  lad  might  have  known  me  for  a  gen- 
tleman by  my  voice;  but  possibly  his  experience  In 
life  had  not  extended  so  far,  for  he  answered: 

"  Lord  Hartover,  I  imagine,  pays  his  bills  at  his 
ov/n  house." 

I  did  redden,  I  confess,  being  still  young  and  sensi- 
tive; but,  after  staring  at  him  as  full  as  he  stared  at 
me,  I  answered,  bowing: 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  so  useful  a  person  as  a 
tradesman.  I  am  only  a  Cambridge  scholar,  for- 
merly Lord  Hartover's  tutor,  who  wishes  to  see  him 
upon  urgent  private  business." 

"  I — I  really  beg  your  pardon.  Pray  sit  down, 
sir,"  quoth  the  sucking  hero,  evidently  abashed, 
handing  me  a  chair. 

But  at  that  moment  a  pair  of  broad  shoulders, 


210  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

which  had  been  bent  over  a  card-table  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  room,  turned  about  with : 

''  Hey?  Why,  Brownlow,  by  all  that's—.  Odd 
trick,  Ponsonby — wait  one  moment. — How  are  you, 
my  dear  fellow?  And  what  on  earth  brings  you 
here  among  us  warriors?  " 

And  the  mighty  Rusher  rose,  like  Saul  the  son  of 
Kish  a  head  and  shoulders  above  his  fellows.  At 
first  I  believe  he  was  really  pleased  to  see  me.  His 
handsome  face  was  genial,  a  light  of  good-natured 
and  kindly  amusement  in  his  eye. 

"Well,  how  are  you?"  he  repeated.  "Do  you 
remember  Brocklesby  Whins  and  the  brown  horse? 
Come  up  this  winter  and  you  shall  ride  him  again; 
by  Jove,  you  shall — and  take  the  rascally  little  grey 
fox  home  with  you.  I've  got  him  stuffed  and  ready, 
as  I  promised  I  would;  and  wondered  why  you'd  not 
claimed  your  property  before." 

I  was  beginning  to  speak — but  he  ran  on : 

"  Brother  officers,  let  me  introduce  you  to  my 
friend,  Mr.  Brownlow,  as  fine  a  light-weight  across 
country  as  you  need  wish  to  know,  and  who  saved 
my  pack  from  destruction  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life ; 
— a  long  and  prosperous  one  may  it  be !  " 

"  My  hunting  days  are  over,  I  fear,"  I  said,  as  the 
men  of  war  stared  all  the  more  at  the  lame  young 
don,  black-coated,  black-breeched  and  black-stock- 
inged— thinking,  I  doubt  not,  I  was  a  "  rum  'un  to 
look  at  "  even  if  a  "  good  'un  to  go." 

"  But  I  beg  of  you  to  tell  me  where  I  can  find  Lord 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  211 

Hartover;  or,  if  I  cannot  see  him,  to  let  me  have  a 
few  words  with  you." 

"  Where  is  Faublas — anyone  know?  "  the  Colonel 
asked  of  the  company  in  general,  and  so  doing  I 
fancied  his  geniality  waned  a  little  and  a  trace  of  un- 
easiness came  into  his  manner.  As  for  me,  my  heart 
sank  as  I  heard  that  name,  of  all  others,  used  as  my 
poor  boy's  sobriquet. 

''  Gone  down  to  Chelsea,  I  believe,"  said  the  youth 
who  had  first  spoken  to  me,  hardly  repressing  a  smile. 
"  He  announced  he  should  dine  to-night  with  the  fair 
unknown." 

"  I  question  whether  he  will  be  at  home  even  to 
you,  then,  Brownlow,"  the  Colonel  declared,  forcing 
a  laugh. 

"  In  that  case  I  am  afraid  I  must  ask  for  a  few 
minutes'  conversation  alone  with  you." 

We  went  out  into  the  Park;  and  there,  pacing  up 
and  down  under  the  leafless  trees,  I  told  all  I  thought 
fit.  I  watched  his  face  as  I  did  so.  It  was  unusually 
serious. 

"  I  think,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said  at  last,  "  you 
had  very  much  better  leave  this  matter  alone." 

I  asked  why.  He  fenced  with  me,  pointing  out 
that  I  had  nothing  more  than  suspicion  to  go  upon — 
no  real  evidence,  circumstantial  or  otherwise.  I 
urged  on  him  the  plain  fact  that  the  matter  could  not 
be  let  alone.  A  great  felony  had  been  committed; 
and  It  was  an  offence,  not  only  against  honour  and 
right,  but  against  law,  to  withhold  such  Information 
as  I  could  give. 


212  JHE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  You  will  repent  it,"  he  said. 

Again  I  asked  why. 

"  I  beg  you  to  take  my  word  for  it,  there  are  rea- 
sons," he  said  earnestly.  "  Be  advised,  my  dear 
Brownlow.    Let  sleeping  dogs  lie." 

I  was  puzzled — how  could  I  help  being  so  ?  But, 
more  and  more,  I  began  to  fear  the  connection  be- 
tween Fedore  and  Hartover  had  been  resumed. 

*' And  where  is  Mademoiselle  Fedore  now?"  I 
said  presently. 

"  'Pon  honour,  I  am  not  responsible  for  the  where- 
abouts of  gay  damsels." 

**  Then  she  is  no  longer  with  Lady  Longmoor?  " 

"  No,  no — has  left  her  these  two  months — may  be 
In  St.  Petersburg  by  now,  or  in  Timbuctoo,  for  aught 
I  know." 

"  The  police  could  fin4  her  there  as  well  as 
here." 

His  tone  changed,  becoming  as  sarcastic  as  his  easy 
good-nature  and  not  very  extensive  vocabulary  per- 
mitted. 

"  And  so  you  would  really  hunt  that  poor  girl  to 
the  gallows?  Shut  her  up  in  gaol — eh?  I  thought 
you  preached  mercy,  went  in  for  motives  of  Christian 
charity,  and  so  forth.  We  live  and  learn — well, 
well." 

He  took  another  turn,  nervously,  while  I  grew  In- 
creasingly puzzled.  Was  it  possible  Fedore  might 
be  connected  with  him,  and  not  with  Hartover?  If 
so,  what  more  natural  and  excusable  than  his  reluct- 
ance to  satisfy  me  ?    That  thought  softened  me. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  213 

**  I  will  do  nothing  further,"  I  said,  '*  without  con- 
sulting his  lordship." 

*' His  lordship?"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
laughing  contemptuously. 

"  Her  ladyship,  then." 

He  paused  a  moment. 

''Yes,"  he  said;  "you're  right."  A  new  light 
seemed  to  break  on  him.  "Yes,"  he  repeated; 
"  we'll  go  at  once  on  the  chance  of  finding  her 
at  home.  It  is  only  seven  now.  Let's  call  a 
coach." 

So  back  we  drove  to  Grosvenor  Square,  both  in 
deep  thought.  Arrived  at  the  house,  he  took  me  into 
a  small  room,  off  the  hall,  and  kept  me  waiting  there 
for  the  best  part  of  an  hour.  I  began  to  wonder,  in- 
deed, if  he  had  forgotten  me  altogether,  and  whether 
I  had  not  best  ring  and  make  some  enquiry  of  the 
servants. 

The  room  was  dimly  lit  with  wax  candles,  set  in 
sconces  high  on  the  silk-panelled  wall;  yet  not  so 
dimly  but  that,  when  the  Colonel  at  last  returned,  I 
could  see  he  looked  pale  and  agitated,  while  his  hands 
and  lips  trembled  as  he  spoke.  And  my  mind  carried 
back  to  the  day  of  the  meet  at  Vendale  Green,  when 
her  ladyship — Queen  of  Beauty  that  she  was — 
stepped  down  from  her  pony-chaise,  and  stood  on  the 
damp  turf  beside  his  great  bay  horse,  talking  to  him; 
and  how,  straightening  himself  up  with  a  jerk,  his 
face  grey  and  aged  as  that  of  a  man  smitten  with  sud- 
den illness,  he  answered  her:  "Impossible,  utterly 
impossible  "  ;  and  how  she,   turning,   with  a  light 


214  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

laugh,  got  into  the  pony-chaise  again,  waving  her 
hand  to  him  and  wishing  him  good  fortune. 

"  Yes — you  are  to  go,"  he  said  to  me  hurriedly. 

"  See  Hartover  at  once.    His  address  is  number 

Church  Lane,  Chelsea.    You'll  remember  ?  " 

"  I  shall." 

"  Remember,  too,  I  am  no  party  to  this  proceeding 
of  yours;  I  warned  you  against  it.  Whatever  hap- 
pens you  will  have  brought  on  yourself." 

"  Very  good.  I  am  perfectly  ready  to  accept  the 
responsibility  of  my  own  actions." 

"  And  I  say — see  here,  Brownlow.  You  won't  tell 
Hartover  I  gave  you  his  address." 

"  Of  course  not,  if  you  desire  it.  I  can  decline  to 
say  where  I  learnt  it." 

"  He'll  find  out,  though,  through  the  other  offi- 
cers," he  muttered,  as  we  crossed  the  hall  and  he  saw 
me  into  the  still  waiting  coach.  "  It's  an  accursed 
business,  and  we  shall  come  ill  out  of  it.  I  know  we 
shall;  but  a  woman  must  have  her  way." 

'*  For  Heaven's  sake,"  I  cried,  "  remember  you 
are  not  alone." 

He  looked  fiercely  at  me,  as  one  who  should  say, 
*'What  have  I  betrayed?"  Then  added  with  a 
sneer: 

*'  Brownlow,  I  wish  to  God  we'd  never  seen  you. 
You're  a  devilish  deal  too  honest  a  fellow  to  have  got 
among  us." 

With  which  cryptic  words  he  went  back  into  the 
great  house,  leaving  me  to  drive  down  to  Chelsea, 
and  to  my  thoughts.    What  they  were  I  hardly  knew 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  215 

myself.  Sufficient  that  I  was  most  miserable  and 
full  of  questioning  dread. 

We  passed,  as  It  seemed,  through  endless  streets, 
until  we  reached  the  then  lonely  King's  Road;  drove 
along  It,  turned  to  the  left  down  Church  Lane,  and 
drew  up  at  a  door  In  a  high  wall  apparently  enclosing 
a  garden.  I  got  out  of  the  coach  and  rang  the  bell. 
A  moment  after  I  heard  a  woman's  quick  tripping 
footsteps  within.  The  door  was  flung  wide  open, 
disclosing  a  covered  way  leading  to  a  pretty  hall, 
gay  with  coloured  curtains  and  carpets,  and  a  voice 
cried : 

*'  Ah !  c'est  tol  enfin,  mon  blen  alme.  A-t-Il  perdu 
le  clef  encore  une  fols,  le  petit  etourdi?  " 

The  speaker  and  I  recoiled  apart.  For,  Immedi- 
ately before  me,  under  the  passage  lamp,  was  Fedore. 

Superbly  lovely,  certainly,  If  art  can  create  loveli- 
ness, with  delicately  tinted  cheeks  and  whitened  skin; 
her  raven  hair  arranged,  according  to  the  prevailing 
mode,  so  as  to  add  as  much  as  possible  to  her  height. 
Dressed,  or  rather  undressed — for  women  then  wore 
only  little  above  the  waist — In  richest  orange  and 
crimson;  her  bare  arms  and  bosom  sparkling  with 
jewels — none  brighter,  though,  than  these  bold  and 
brilliant  eyes — there  she  stood,  more  like  her  name- 
sake Empress  Theodora  than  ever,  and  flashed  light- 
nings Into  my  face — disappointment,  rage,  scorn, 
but  no  trace  of  fear. 

"  And  what,  pray,  does  Monsieur  Brownlow  wish 
at  such  an  hour  of  the  night?  " 

"  Nothing,   Mademoiselle,"  I   answered  gravely 


2i6  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

and  humbly.  "  I  came  to  see  Lord  Hartover,  and 
he  is  not,  I  perceive,  at  home.'* 

Was  she  going  to  shut  the  door  on  me?  Nothing 
less.  Whether  from  sheer  shamelessness,  or  whether 
— as  I  have  often  fancied  since — she  read  my  errand 
in  my  face,  she  composed  herself  in  an  instant,  be- 
coming amiable  and  gracious. 

*'  Could  not  Monsieur  come  in  and  wait?  Would 
he  not  stay  and  sup  with  us  ?  " 

I  bowed  courteously.  She  was  so  superb,  so 
daringly  mistress  of  herself,  I  could  do  no  less;  and 
said  I  should  be  shocked  at  interrupting  such  a  tete- 
a-tete,  I  apologised  for  having  brought  her  to  the 
door  on  so  cold  a  night;  and,  raising  my  hat,  de- 
parted, having,  at  least,  taken  care  to  tell  her  noth- 
ing. 

Why  should  I  not  depart?  Had  I  not  seen  enough, 
and  more  than  enough?  The  Rusher  was  right  so 
far — for  who  was  I  to  interfere?  What  had  I  to 
offer  Hartover  as  against  that  gorgeous  and  volup- 
tuous figure?  If  my  suspicions  could  be  proved,  and 
I  succeeded  in  parting  him  from  her,  would  he  not 
go  to  someone  else?  And  who  was  I,  after  all,  to 
judge  her,  to  say  hard  words  to  her?  If  she  were 
dazzled  by  him,  what  wonder?  If  he  by  her,  what 
wonder  either? — Ah!  that  they  had  let  him  marry 
Nellie,  boy  though  he  was,  two  years  ago  !  But  such 
is  not  the  way  of  the  world;  and  the  way  of  the 
world,  it  seemed,  he  was  doomed  to  go. — Oh !  weary 
life,  wherein  all  effort  for  good  seemed  but  as  filling 
the  sieve  of  the  Danaides.     Oh!  weary  work  for 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  217 

clean  living  and  righteousness,  which  seemed  as  a 
rolling  of  Sisyphus'  stone  for  ever  up  the  hill,  to  see 
it  roll  down  again.  What  profit  has  a  man  of  all  his 
labour?  That  which  has  been  shall  again  be,  and 
there  is  no  new  thing  under  the  sun. 

I  went  back  to  Cambridge  unhappy,  all  but  cynical 
and  despairing,  and  settled  down  to  my  routine  of 
work  again,  and  to  the  tender  attentions  of  Mr.  Hali- 
dane,  to  whom  however  I  told  no  word  about  my 
fruitless  expedition  to  London.  And  so  sad  was  I, 
and  in  such  a  state  of  chronic  irritation  did  Halidane 
keep  me,  that  I  verily  believe  I  should  have  fallen 
ill,  had  not  the  fresh  evil  been  compensated  for  by 
a  fresh  good — and  that  good  taken  the  form  of  re- 
newed intercourse  with  Mr.  Braithwaite. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

It  fell  out  on  this  wise.  In  the  hope  of  lightening 
the  weight  of  depression  under  which  I  laboured,  I 
took  to  riding  again  so  many  afternoons  a  week — 
an  indulgence  which  I  could  now  afford.  True,  a  hack 
from  a  livery  stable  was  but  a  sorry  exchange  for 
the  horses  upon  which  Warcop  had  been  wont  to 
mount  me;  but  if  love  of  horse-flesh  takes  you  that 
way — and  take  me  that  way  it  did — the  veriest  crock 
is  better  to  bestride  than  nought. 

The  day  was  fine,  with  sunshine  and  white  fleets  of 
blithely  sailing  cloud.  Hedges  and  trees  thickened 
with  bud,  and  the  rooks  were  nesting.  I  had  made 
a  long  round  by  Madingley  and  Trumpington,  and 
was  walking  my  horse  back  slowly  over  the  cobbles 
of  King's  Parade — admiring,  as  how  many  times  be- 
fore, the  matchless  Chapel,  springing  from  the  green- 
sward, its  slender  towers,  pinnacles  and  lace-work  of 
open  parapet  rising  against  spaces  of  mild  blue  sky — 
when,  amid  groups  upon  the  pavement  wearing  cap 
and  gown,  or  less  ceremonial  boating  and  football 
gear,  a  tall  heavily  built  figure,  clothed  in  a  coat  with 
bulging  skirt-pockets  to  it,  breeches  and  gaiters  of 
pepper-and-salt-mixture,  attracted  my  eye.  The  man 
halted  now  and  again  to  stare  at  the  fine  buildings; 
and  at  last,  crossing  where  the  side  street  runs  from 

218 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  219 

King's  Parade  to  the  Market  Place,  turned  into  the 
big  bookseller's  at  the  corner. 

I  thought  I  could  hardly  be  mistaken  as  to  his 
identity;  and,  calling  a  down-at-heels  idler  to  hold  my 
horse,  I  dismounted  and  followed  him  into  the  shop. 
If  I  had  made  a  mistake,  it  would  be  easy  to  ask  for 
some  book  or  pamphlet  and  so  cover  my  discom- 
fiture. 

But  I  had  made  no  mistake.  Though  older  and 
greyer,  his  strong  intellectual  face  more  deeply  lined 
by  thought,  and,  as  I  feared,  by  care,  Braithwaite 
himself  confronted  me. 

"  Thou  hast  found  me,  oh!  mine  enemy,"  he  ex- 
claimed, while  the  clasp  of  his  hand  gave  the  lie  to 
this  doubtful  form  of  greeting.  "  And,  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  hoped  you  might  do  so ;  though  I  was  in  two 
minds  about  seeking  you  out  and  calling  on  you 
myself." 

I  returned  the  clasp  of  his  hand;  but,  for  the  mo- 
ment, my  heart  was  almost  too  full  for  speech. 

"  Enemy,  neither  now  nor  at  any  time  in  our  ac- 
quaintance," I  faltered. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  answered.  '*  But  until  you 
were  your  own  master,  and  had  finally  cut  adrift 
from  certain  high  folks  in  high  places,  I  reckoned  we 
were  best  apart." 

*'  And  you  were  right.  Now,  for  good  or  evil,  all 
that  is  over  and  done  with  " — and  truly  and  honestly 
I  believed  what  I  said. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  he  replied  heartily.  *'  Then 
we  can  start  our  friendship  afresh — that  Is,  of  course, 


220  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

If  an  ornament  of  this  ancient  seat  of  learning,  a  full- 
fledged  don  like  yourself,  is  not  too  fine  and  fastid- 
ious a  person  to  associate  with  a  plain  middle-class 
man  such  as  me." 

I  bade  him  not  be  foolish — he  had  a  better  opinion 
of  me,  I  hoped,  than  that — asked  what  of  "  the  pride 
which  apes  humility,"  and  so  forth;  and  all  the  while 
questions  about  Nellie,  her  health,  her  well-being, 
her  present  whereabouts,  scorched  my  tongue.  I 
invited  him  to  my  rooms — which  I  think  pleased  him 
— so  that  we  might  talk  more  at  our  ease ;  but  he  told 
me  he  had  the  better  part  of  a  twenty-mile  drive  be- 
fore him,  back  to  Westrea,  a  farm  which  he  had 
lately  bought  on  the  Suffolk  border.  We  therefore 
agreed  that,  when  I  had  sent  my  horse  back  to  the 
stable,  I  should  join  him  at  the  Inn,  just  off  the  Mar- 
ket Place,  where  his  gig  was  put  up. 

And  in  the  dingy  inn  parlour,  some  quarter  of  an 
hour  later,  I  at  last  found  courage  and  voice  to 
enquire  for  Nellie.    His  face  clouded,  I  thought. 

"  In  answering  you  frankly,  I  give  you  the  strong- 
est proof  of  friendship  which  I  can  give,"  he  said. 

I  thanked  him. 

"  It  went  hard  with  her  at  first,  poor  lass,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  brave  and  dutiful  though  she  is.  And  that's 
what  has  brought  me  further  south.  I  judged  It  best 
to  get  her  right  away  from  the  Yorkshire  country  and 
sound  of  Yorkshire  speech.  So  I  threw'  up  my 
tenancy  of  the  place  I  had  taken  on  leaving  Mere 
Ban.  I  may  tell  you  I  came  Into  some  little  money 
through  the  death  of  a  relative,  last  year,  which  en- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  221 

abled  me  to  buy  this  Westrea  farm.  I  took  Nellie 
with  me  to  view  it,  and  the  house  caught  her  fancy. 
'Tis  a  pretty  old  red-brick  place,  and  my  gift  to  her. 
I  want  her  to  make  a  home  of  it,  and  interest  herself 
in  the  development  of  the  property — about  nine  hun- 
dred acres  in  all.  She  has  an  excellent  head  for  busi- 
ness; and,  in  my  opinion,  there's  no  better  medicine 
than  keeping  hands  and  brain  occupied  in  such  a  case 
as  hers." 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  as  though  unwilling  to  pur- 
sue the  subject  further,  adding: 

"  But  there,  come  and  see  for  yourself  what  our 
new  quarters  are  like,  Brownlow.  No  purple  wind- 
swept fells  piled  up  to  high  heaven  behind  it,  truly; 
still,  a  pleasant  enough  spot  in  its  way,  and  fine  corn- 
land  too.  I  can  offer  you  a  comfortable  bed  and  a 
good  plain'  dinner;  and  a  horse  you  needn't  be 
ashamed  to  ride,  notwithstanding  your  free  run  of 
his  lordship's  stud  at  Hover.  Come  during  the  vaca- 
tion. Easter  falls  late  this  year;  and  the  orchard 
trees  should  be  in  blossom,  supposing  we  get  a  fine 
spring,  as  I  believe  we  shall.  It'll  do  you  no  harm 
to  drop  your  classics  and  mathematics,  part  company 
with  your  scandalous  old  heathen  poets  and  divinities 
and  take  the  living  world  of  to-day  by  the  hand  for 
forty-eight  hours  or  so.  I'll  be  bound  your  radical- 
ism has  deteriorated  in  this  academic  dry-as-dust 
atmosphere  too,  and  will  be  none  the  worse  for  a 
little  wholesome  rubbing  up." 

So  to  Westrea  I  promised  to  go,  his  invitation  hav- 
ing been   given   so   spontaneously   and  kindly.     A 


222  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

dangerous  experiment  perhaps,  but  the  temptation 
was  too  strong  for  me.  At  last  I  should  see  Nellie 
again,  and  learn  how  matters  really  stood  with 
her.  That  thought  threw  me  into  a  fever  of  excite- 
ment. 

To  go  in  to  hall,  with  the  chance  of  meeting  Hali- 
dane  and  having  the  fellow  saddle  his  unctuous,  not 
to  say  oily,  presence  upon  me  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening,  was  intolerable.  So,  after  starting  Braith- 
waite  upon  his  homeward  journey,  I  got  a  scratch 
meal  at  the  inn,  and  then  made  my  way  to  The  Backs 
across  bridge,  and  wandered  in  the  softly  deepening 
twihght  under  the  trees  beside  the  river.  I  tried — 
but  alas  how  vainly! — to  calm  my  excitement,  and 
school  myself  into  rejection  alike  of  the  wild  hopes 
and  dark  forebodings  which  assailed  me.  I  lost  count 
of  time,  and  wandered  thus  until  the  lamps  were  lit 
and  the  moonlight  touched  the  stately  masses  of  col- 
lege buildings,  rising  pale  from  their  lawns  and  gar- 
dens, on  the  other  side  of  the  placid  slow-flowing 
stream.  Hence  it  was  comparatively  late  when,  at 
length,  I  climbed  the  creaking,  foot-worn  oaken 
stairs  leading  to  my  rooms. 

Immediately  on  entering  I  saw  that  a  letter  lay 
upon  the  table.  It  was  in  Hartover's  handwriting. 
Trembling,  I  tore  it  open. 

Why  should  he  write  to  me  after  so  long  a  silence  ? 
Had  he  heard  of  my  visit  to  St.  James's  Palace  ?  Of 
my  visit  to  Church  Lane?  About  Fedore  surely  it 
must  be ;  and  when  I  began  to  read  I  found  that  so 
indeed  it  was. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  223 

"  Dearest  Brownlow," — It  ran — "  I  have  news 
to  tell  you  which  will  astonish  and  at  first,  I  am 
afraid,  shock  you.  But,  after  a  little,  you  will  see  it 
is  right  enough;  and  that,  In  honour,  I  could  not  do 
otherwise  than  I  have  done.  For  nearly  two  months 
now  I  have  been  married  to  Fedore." 

My  head  fairly  spun  round.  Faint  and  dizzy,  I 
sank  into  the  nearest  chair,  and  read  on  with  staring 
eyes. 

"  My  reasons  were  very  simple.  I  do  not  ask  you 
to  approve  them;  but  to  weigh  and  judge  them 
fairly.  You  know  the  circumstances  under  which  I 
came  to  town  and  joined  my  regiment.  Parted  from 
Her  whom  I  loved — and  whom  I  shall  never  forget, 
the  thought  of  Her  will  always  be  sweet  and  sacred 
to  me — I  became  utterly  reckless.  She  was  gone. 
You  were  gone." 

Was  that  a  reproach,  and  a  merited  one?  Whether 
or  not,  it  cut  me  to  the  quick. 

''  There  was  no  one  to  care  what  I  did,  no  one  for 
me  to  care  for.  Nothing  seemed  to  matter.  I 
plunged  Into  all  the  follies — and  worse — of  a  young 
man  about  town.  I  will  not  disgust  you  by  describing 
them — suffice  it  that  I  found  plenty  both  of  men  and 
women  to  share  them  with  me.  I  tried  to  drown 
remembrance  of  Her,  of  you,  of  everything  noble 
and  good.  In  pleasure.  And  at  last,  you  will  hardly 
be  surprised  to  hear,  I  fell  into  my  old  madness  of 
drink.  I  was  horribly,  quite  horribly,  you  under- 
stand, hopeless  and  unhappy.  About  my  own  people 
I  say  nothing — to  their  own  Master  they  stand  or 
fall.    I  do  not  want  to  talk,  or  even  think  about  them. 


224  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

But  by  last  autumn  I  had  pretty  well  ruined  my 
health.  I  had,  so  the  doctors  told  me,  delirium 
tremens.  I  know  my  nerves  were  shattered,  and  life 
seemed  a  perfect  hell.  As  I  lay  ill  and  mad,  Fedore 
came  to  me.  She  nursed  me,  controlled  me,  pulled 
me  through.  She  was  most  true  to  me  when  others 
wished  her  to  be  most  false.  There  were  those,  she 
has  told  me  since — as  I  suspected  all  along,  even  in 
the  old  days  at  Hover — who  would  be  glad  enough 
for  me  to  kill  myself  with  debauchery.  She  talked  to 
me,  reasoned  with  me.  You  yourself  could  not  have 
spoken  more  wisely.  But  I  felt,  Brownlow,  I  felt 
I  could  not  stand  alone.  I  must  have  someone  to 
lean  on,  to  be  loved  by  and  to  love.  It  is  a  necessity 
of  my  nature,  and  I  obeyed  it.  Fedore  saved  me,  and 
I  paid  her  by  marrying  her.  She  refused  at  first, 
warned  me  of  my  seeming  folly,  of  what  the  world 
would  say;  told  me  there  were  difficulties,  that  she, 
too,  had  enemies.  But  I  insisted. — Remember  she 
had  compromised  herself,  endangered  her  reputation 
by  coming  to  me. — At  last  she  gave  way,  confessing, 
dear  creature,  she  had  loved  me  all  along,  loved  me 
from  a  boy. 

*'  You  will  say,  what  about  the  future?  I  defy  it, 
snap  my  fingers  at  it.  It  must  take  care  of  itself.  It 
can't,  in  any  case,  be  more  hateful  than  the  past. 

"  And  so  good-bye,  dear  old  man.  Judge  me  fairly 
at  least;  and  keep  my  secret — for  secret  our  marriage 
must  be  as  long  as  my  father  is  alive.  Fedore  sends 
kind  remembrances,  and  bids  me  say  when  you  know 
all — and  there  is  more  behind — you  will  not  think  of 
her  too  harshly." 

Should  I  not?  The  woman  had  greater  faith  in 
my  leniency — or  stupidity,  which? — than  I  myself 
had.    No  harshness  was  too  great,  surely,  in  face  of 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  225 

the  wrong  she  had  done  the  boy  by  marrying  him. 
Yet  two  things  were  true.  For  that  she  loved  him — 
according  to  her  own  conception  of  love — I  did  not 
doubt;  and  that  she  had  rescued  him  from  the  demon 
of  drink — for  the  time  being — I  did  not  doubt  either. 
And  this  last — let  me  try  to  be  just — this  last  must  be 
counted  to  her,  in  some  degree  at  all  events,  for 
righteousness  whatever  her  ulterior  object  in  so  res- 
cuing him  might  have  been. 

But  admitting  that  much,  I  had  admitted  all  that 
was  possible  in  her  favour.  She  had  hunted  the  boy, 
trapped  him,  pinned  him  down,  making  his  extremity 
her  own  opportunity;  cleverly  laying  him  under  an 
obligation,  moreover,  which  could  not  but  evoke  all 
his  native  sensibility  and  chivalry. 

The  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more  disastrous,  the 
more  abominable  did  the  position  appear.  So  much 
so  that,  going  back  to  his  letter,  I  read  it  over  and 
over  to  see  if  I  could  make  it  belie  itself  and  find  any 
loophole  of  escape.  But  what  was  written  was  writ- 
ten. In  Hartover's  belief  he  had  made  Fedore,  and 
done  right  In  making  her,  his  wife. 

And  there  were  those,  then,  who  would  gladly 
compass  his  death!  The  last  scene  with  Colonel 
Esdaile  flashed  across  me;  and  other  scenes,  words, 
gestures,  both  of  his  and  of  her  ladyship's.  Was  the 
boy  really  and  actually  the  victim  of  some  shameful 
conspiracy?  Only  one  life  stood  between  the  Colonel 
and  the  title,  the  great  estates,  the  great  wealth. 
Was  her  ladyship  playing  some  desperate  game  to 
secure  these  for  him  and — for  herself,  and  for  her 


226  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

children  as  his  wife  ?  She  was  still  young  enough  to 
bear  children. — In  this  ugly  coil  that  cardinal  point 
must  never  be  forgotten.  But  how  could  Fedore's 
marrying  Hartover  forward  this?  Had  the  woman 
been  set  on  as  her  ladyship's  tool,  and  then  betrayed 
her  employer  and  intrigued  on  her  own  account? 

Good  Heavens !  and  Nellie  was  free  now.  At 
that  thought  I  sprang  up ;  but  only  to  sink  back  into 
my  chair  again,  broken  by  the  vast  perplexity,  the 
vast  complexity,  of  it  all.  Free?  Did  I  not  know 
better  than  that.  Had  not  her  father's  tone,  her 
father's  words  in  speaking  of  her,  told  me  her  heart 
was  very  far  from  free.  Should  I  so  fall  from  grace 
as  to  trade  on  her  despair,  and  tempt  her  to  engage 
herself  to  me  while  she  still  loved  Hartover?  Would 
not  that  be  to  follow  Fedore's  example — almost;  and 
take  a  leaf  out  of  her  very  questionably  virtuous  or 
high-minded  book?  Besides,  how  did  I  know  Nellie 
would  ever  be  willing  to  engage  herself  to  me  ?  Vain 
dream — for,  after  all,  what  did  the  whole  thing 
amount  to? — Hartover  was  not  of  age.  His  mar- 
riage was  null — if  he  so  chose.  He  could  find  means 
to  dissolve  it  himself,  surely,  when  he  found  out 
Fedore,  and  saw  her  in  her  true  colours. — And  he 
should  see.    My  temper  rose.    I  would  expose  her. 

I  would  appeal  to  Lord .    I  would  move  heaven 

and  earth  till  I  could  prove  her  complicity  in  Mar- 
sigli's  felony — and  her  connection  with  him,  her  real 
marriage.    I  would 

But  alas !  what  could  I  do,  with  so  many  persons 
— ^powerful,    rich,    unscrupulous — arrayed    against 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  227 

me? — Hartover  himself,  more  than  likely,  protect- 
ing, in  a  spirit  of  chivalry,  the  woman  who  had 
nursed  and  befriended  him,  and  to  whom — as  he  be- 
lieved— ^he  had  given  his  name  in  wedlock.  I,  on  the 
other  hand,  armed  but  with  light  and  broken  threads 
of  suspicion  and  of  theory.  For  so  far,  as  the  Colo- 
nel had  reminded  me,  I  possessed  no  actual  evidence, 
circumstantial  or  otherwise,  against  her. 

No;  it  was  impossible  to  break  the  web  in  which 
she  and  others — to  their  shame — had  entangled  him. 
I  would  put  the  whole  deplorable  business  from  me, 
and  go  quietly  to  Westrea  for  the  Easter  vacation. 
And  Nellie? — I  would  never  tell  her.  If  she  hoped 
still,  I  would  never  undeceive  her.  The  dark  cloud 
might  blow  over,  the  foul  bubble  burst — and  then ! — 
Meanwhile  I  would  be  to  her  as  a  brother.  I  would 
help  her,  strengthen  her;  in  a  sense,  educate  her. 
For  what?    For  whom? — God  knew — — 

But,  just  there,  I  was  startled  out  of  my  painful 
reverie  by  shouts,  confused  tumult  In  the  usually 
silent  court  below,  and  rush  of  feet  upon  the  stair. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

I  DREW  aside  the  curtain,  unlatched  the  casement,  and 
leaned  out.  Upon  the  elms  in  the  Fellows'  Garden, 
the  lawns,  and  laurel  shrubberies,  moonlight  lay  soft 
and  white.  But  looking  upward  I  saw,  above  the 
angle  of  the  parapet,  a  great  column  of  smoke, 
dashed  with  fiery  flakes,  surging  into  the  wind-swept 
sky.  I  hurried  into  my  dressing-room,  which  over- 
looked the  inner  court,  and  there  a  strange  scene  met 
my  eyes.  A  red  glare,  jets  of  smoke  and  angry  flame 
deformed  the  opposite  facade;  while,  over  the  grass 
plats  and  paved  ways  of  the  little  quad  and  about  the 
fountain  in  the  centre,  dark  shapes  rushed  to  and  fro, 
raised  hands  and  upturned  faces  showing  unnaturally 
pale  and  distorted  in  the  dreadful  light. — A  living 
page  torn  from  Dante's  Inferno,  it  seemed. 

The  fire  was  here,  then,  close  at  hand,  within  the 
precincts  of  the  College  Itself. 

Shocked  and  alarmed,  I  searched  for  my  keys — I 
was  always  a  careful  and  methodical  person — that  I 
might  lock  away  Hartover's  letter  In  my  desk.  But 
my  study  lamp  had  burned  low,  and,  between  agita- 
tion and  the  semi-darkness,  I  failed  to  put  my  hand 
on  them;  so  thrust  the  letter  between  the  pages  of  a 
big  lexicon  lying  on  the  writing-table,  and  ran  out, 
dragging  on  my  gown. 

When  I  got  on  to  the  landing  I  found  I  had  not 
228 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  229 

brought  my  sporting  key.  I  would  have  gone  back 
for  it;  but  the  noise  increased  below,  while  men, 
racing  down  from  the  upper  stories,  shouted,  In  pass- 
ing, that  the  Master's  Lodge  was  alight  and  lives  en- 
dangered. I  remembered  that  Mrs.  Dynevor,  the 
Master's  sister,  and  her  daughters — the  young  lady 
who  had  made  herself  so  innocently  pleasant  to  me 
at  dinner — were  still  his  guests,  and  this  added  to  my 
alarm.  After  all,  who  would  think  of  entering  my 
rooms  at  such  a  moment  as  this?  I  ran  on,  leaving 
my  outer  door  unfastened. 

The  whole  population  of  the  College  seemed  to 
be  congregated  in  the  small  quadrangle,  from  vice- 
master  and  senior  fellows — ''  grave  and  reverend 
signors,"  equally  able  and  ready  to  appreciate  good 
wine,  a  good  dinner,  an  apt  Greek  quotation  or 
pawky  Latin  joke — to  gyps,  scullions  and  cooks. 
Under  the  direction  of  the  city  fire  brigade,  a  chain 
of  willing  workers  had  been  formed  passing  buckets 
from  hand  to  hand  from  the  fountain  to  the  side  door 
of  the  Lodge.  But  it  was  only  too  evident  the  fire 
had  firm  hold,  and  the  means  of  arresting  it  were 
sadly  inadequate. 

Anxious  to  know  if  the  ladies  were  in  safety,  I 
made  my  way  towards  the  Master,  who,  calm  and 
dignified,  tried  to  pacify  a  little  group  of  terrified 
women — among  whom  I  gladly  recognised  Mrs. 
Dynevor  and  her  younger  daughter — torn  from  their 
sleep  only  half-clothed,  and  wrapped  in  shawls  and 
coverlets.  But  just  as  I  reached  him  a  cry  of  horror 
went  up  from  the  crowd. 


230  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

The  Lodge,  sandwiched  In  between  the  Chapel  on 
one  side  and  Hall  on  the  other,  is  the  oldest  portion 
of  the  College  buildings,  dating  from  pre-Reforma- 
tion  times.  Looking  up,  now,  at  the  low  narrow  win- 
dows of  the  third  floor,  I  saw,  as  others  had  just 
seen.  In  the  light  of  a  sudden  outburst  of  flame,  a 
girl's  face,  her  arms  outstretched  in  agonised  appeal 
between  the  heavy  bars. 

"  Alice,"  the  Master  cried  aloud,  for  the  moment 
losing  his  fine  composure.  *'  Alice,  left  behind  In 
the  blue  bedroom!  I  thought  she  was  here. 
And — merciful  powers — the  fire  between  us  and 
her!" 

Careless  of  the  restraints  of  age  and  of  his  oiHcial 
position,  he  broke  away,  almost  roughly,  from  poor 
Mrs.  Dynevor,  who  clung  to  him  weeping,  and 
rushed  towards  the  side  door.  A  sudden  energy 
seizing  me — I  was  half  maddened  already  by  pity 
and  excitement — I  kept  pace  with  him. 

"  Show  me  where?  Tell  me  how  to  reach  the  blue 
room,  sir,"  I  cried;  and  calling  to  the  nearest  fireman, 
we  three  went  on  into  the  burning  house — while 
awed  silence  fell  upon  the  crowd  without. 

What  a  labyrinth  of  a  place  it  was,  all  wainscotted 
and  panelled  too,  the  woodwork  like  so  much  tinder 
from  age  and  dry  rot!  We  ran  through  passages 
choked  with  acrid  fumes,  up  stairs  dripping  with  foul 
water,  past  the  doors  of  pleasant  studious  rooms 
where  we  heard  the  fire  hissing  and  crackling  within; 
finally  half-way  down  a  long  corridor — and  there  we 
stopped  short.    Ahead  of  us  stretched  an  apparently 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  231 

Impenetrable  barrier  of  smoke;  and  beyond  it,  felt 
rather  than  seen,  a  redness  of  bellowing  flame. 

Three  times  we  pushed  forward  into  the  smoke, 
and  thrice  staggered  back  half  senseless.  The  third 
time  I  got  far  enough  to  find  the  floor  burning 
and  crumbling  beneath  my  feet.  All  ingress  was 
cut  off. 

"  Ah !  the  poor  child,  the  poor  doomed  child," 
the  Master  wailed,  stirred  to  the  depths  of  his  kindly 
and  genial  nature.  '^  She  must  die — and,  oh !  my 
God,  what  a  death." 

"  Can  they  raise  no  ladder  to  the  window  from  the 
court?"  I  asked,  distracted  by  the  sight  of  my  old 
friend's  grief. 

"  What  use?    You  forget  the  bars." 

*'  Can  we  break  through  no  party-wall? — from  a 
side  room?  " 

"  Yes — a  side  room.  The  door  is  there — within 
the  smoke — on  the  left,  if  you  can  reach  it.  God 
bless  you  for  the  thought — and  we  may  save  her  yet." 

"  Have  you  an  axe?  "  I  cried  to  the  fireman. 

"  Trust  me  for  that,  sir,"  he  answered. 

And  we  again  passed  into  the  curtain  of  smoke, 
hand  in  hand,  I  foremost.  Choking,  blinded,  stifled. 
In  a  hideous  light  which  yet  was  almost  total  dark- 
ness, I  groped  along  the  wall  for  the  door.  It  could 
not  have  been  more  than  five  yards  off,  but  those 
yards  seemed  to  lengthen  Into  miles.  The  Master 
gave  in,  not  from  lack  of  courage  or  determination, 
but  simply  from  physical  exhaustion — and,  with  a 
groan,  fell  fainting. 


232  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  Carry  him  back,"  I  panted,  and  feeling  for  the 
fireman's  hand  snatched  the  axe  from  it. 

"  Come  back,  too,  sir,"  he  whispered  hoarsely, 
"  or  you're  a  dead  man." 

But  nothing  was  further  from  my  thoughts,  or 
from  my  wishes,  than  turning  back.  A  strange  ex- 
hilaration possessed  me.  The  heavy  weight  of 
trouble  about  the  dear  boy,  of  trouble  about 
Nellie,  was  lifted  off  me.  I  felt  strong  and 
free  In  the  choking  red  darkness  of  the  burning 
house,  almost  as  I  felt  strong  and  free  when  I  saved 
the  pack,  under  the  open  sky,  on  the  crest  of  the  fells 
high  above  royal  Hover.  The  student,  the  man  of 
thought  and  of  books,  had  given  place  to  the  man 
of  action,  of  adventure  and  practical  achievement.  I 
knew  full  well  that  I  took  my  life  In  my  hand. 
What  did  that  matter?  If  I  lived,  I  lived;  if  I 
died,  I  died;  and — equally  In  either  case — might  God 
have  mercy  on  my  soul !  But,  honestly  I  can  declare, 
I  never  felt  more  at  peace,  more  happy,  than  as — 
half-asphyxiated  by  nauseous  vapours — I  groped  my 
way  along  the  smoke-hidden  wall,  found  the  handle, 
turned  it,  and,  opening  the  door,  passed  into  a  com- 
paratively clear  atmosphere. 

Slamming  the  door  to  behind  me,  I  crossed  the 
room  and  thrusting  some  furniture  aside,  began 
hewing  at  the  wall,  with  a  singular  llght-heartedness 
of  fury.  Mercifully  the  wall  was  only  lath  and  plas- 
ter. In  less  than  five  minutes  I  cleared  a  way  into  the 
fateful  blue  bed-chamber  beyond. 

Ah!    what  a  cruel  sight!     On  my  right  flames 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  233 

flickered  up  the  half-burned  door.  The  plaster  was 
dropping  from  the  ceiling.  Blue  tongues  of  fire  ran 
along  the  skeleton  uprights.  All  one  side  of  the  room 
glowed  red  in  hideous  decay.  The  bed-hangings 
were  just  flashing  into  a  blaze. 

Where  was  she,  the  innocent  friendly  young  girl, 
with  whom  I  had  conversed  and  to  whose  simple  sing- 
ing I  had  listened,  so  far  from  all  hint  of  tragedy 
and  danger,  but  a  week  or  two  ago? 

Crouched  below  the  window,  faint  whether  from 
that  agonised  crying  for  help,  or  from  terror,  she 
had  curled  her  limbs  together  and  laid  her  down  to 
burn  piecemeal.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen 
among  the  white  robes  but  a  long  tress  of  brown 
hair  and  her  poor  little  bare  feet,  which  quivered 
convulsively  as  though  in  momentary  expectation  the 
flame  would  reach  them  and  the  torture  begin. 

"  Alice — Miss  Dynevor,"  I  called,  but  she  did  not 
move. 

I  tore  a  blanket  from  the  bed,  wrapped  her  In  it, 
lifted  her  up  and  bore  her  back  through  the  opening 
In  the  wall,  rudely  enough. 

And  then  ? — How  to  escape  I  knew  not.  The  door 
I  had  entered  by,  almost  Impossible  then,  must  be 
wholly  so  by  now.  The  window  was  useless;  the 
lights  too  narrow  for  a  body  to  pass  through,  even 
had  they  not  been  barred.  We  were  trapped  in- 
deed— the  horrible  moment  only  postponed  awhile, 
and  for  two  lives  now  instead  of  one.  Still  that 
strange  exaltation  held  me.  Never  had  I  felt,  as  just 
then,  the  worthlessness  of  mere  earthly  life.    What 


234  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

did  it  signify  to  the  world,  what  did  it  signify  to  me, 
whether  I  was  what  men  call  alive,  or  what  men  call 
dead  ?  I  had  tried  for  once  to  live  for  some  purpose ; 
and — as  it  seemed — had  failed.  I  had  thought,  in 
myself,  that  I  could  help  God;  but  God  had  chosen 
to  go  His  own  way — or  let  the  devil  go  his — and  do 
without  me.  Now  all  I  knew  was  that,  although  I 
was  not  necessary  to  God,  God  was  more  necessary 
to  me  than  ever  before.  Yea,  though  He  slew  me, 
would  I  trust  in  Him ! 

Nevertheless,  burn  this  young  girl  should  not,  if 
I  could  help  it.  I  made  up  my  mind  what  to  do — 
quickly  enough,  as  was  needful,  for  the  room  we  had 
just  left  was  all  aflame.  I  had  cut  through  one  wall. 
I  would  try  to  cut  through  another;  and,  if  I  could 
not,  I  would  wrap  the  blanket  so  closely  round  her 
that  she  should  smother  rather  than  burn 

All  this  darted  through  my  mind,  as  thoughts  are 
said  to  through  a  drowning  man's,  in  an  instant  of 
time.  Not  three  minutes,  indeed,  had  we  been 
together  in  that  second  room  before  I  was  hewing 
at  the  wall. 

The  first  stroke  jarred  me  to  the  shoulders.  This 
was  of  brick,  then.  And  how  thick? — How  could  I 
tell?  My  heart  sank  within  me,  I  own.  A  four-inch 
wall  I  might  pierce.  But  a  nine-inch,  a  fourteen-inch 
— and  these  forefathers  of  ours  stinted  neither  mate- 
rial nor  labour.  They  built  solidly.  Heaven  help 
me — for  my  arms  were  aching  and  stiff  already;  and, 
even  had  they  not  been,  I  dared  not  strike  too  hard 
lest  I  break  the  axe-handle,  which  was  light  and  thin. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  235 

A  brief  space,  which  seemed  infinite,  while  the 
flames  crackled  behind  us  and  the  room  filled  with 
smoke. 

Again  a  brief  space,  and  a  frightful  thought 
crossed  my  mind.  Even  if  I  succeeded,  what  was 
beyond?  Might  not  the  adjoining  room  be  on  fire 
likewise  ? 

For  the  strain  became  too  great,  too  prolonged. 
Exhausted  as  I  was  by  violent  exertion  in  that  stifling 
atmosphere,  reaction  set  in.  It  was,  I  honestly  be- 
lieve, more  physical  than  moral;  but  once  more  I  felt 
that  cruel  sinking  of  the  heart,  along  with  almost 
uncontrollable  terror  of  the  bodily  torment  surely 
awaiting  me.  Trapped,  hopeless,  lost — my  arms 
dropped  at  my  sides. 

Shame,  though,  shame  that  I  should  turn  craven 
now!  So,  praying  as  I  had  never  prayed  before,  I 
heaved  up  weary  hands  and  struck  a  desperate  blow, 
which — cracked  the  axe-handle.  But  for  this  I  could 
afford  to  care  little,  since  I  had  felt  the  whole  struc- 
ture shake  and  bulge  under  that  blow.  I  clutched 
the  handle  in  both  hands,  and  butted  with  the  axe- 
head  at  the  wall,  using  every  ounce  of  force  left 
in  me. 

A  full  yard  of  bricks  and  rubble  fell  outward  with 
a  mighty  crash;  and  I,  lurching  forward,  saw  below 
me,  touched  by  slanting  rays  of  white  moonlight,  the 
wet  steps  of  a  winding  stone  stair.  For  some  seconds 
I  was  too  weak,  from  sheer  thankfulness,  to  move. 

Then,  not  without  an  effort — for  I  felt  childishly 
fearful  of  losing  sight  of  those  cool  wet  steps  for 


236  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

however  brief  an  Interval — I  turned  and  raised  Alice 
Dynevor  from  the  ground,  bidding  her  wake,  tell- 
ing her  all  was  well,  that  we  were  saved;  and  gather- 
ing her  in  my  arms,  I  put  her,  feet  foremost,  through 
the  jagged,  blessed  cleft  in  the  wall. 

As  I  did  so,  my  ears  were  greeted  by  a  cheer,  and 
a  dozen  gownsmen  swarmed  up  the  slippery  stair- 
way, strong  young  hands  outstretched  to  help,  eager 
young  voices  pouring  forth  rejoicing  and  generous 
praise.  How  good  it  was,  how  beautiful,  how  sus- 
taining after  the  vision  of  hell,  which  I  had  met, 
battled  with,  and,  God  be  thanked,  overcome  and 
left  behind! 

They  would  have  borne  us  away  in  triumph  in  their 
enthusiasm;  but  Alice  Dynevor  stood  up,  shrinking 
and  drawing  the  blanket  closer  round  her. 

"  No,"  she  faltered.  "  Take  me — you  take 
me — I  am  frightened — let  no  one  touch  me  but 
you." 

So,  not  a  little  affected  by  her  trust  in  me,  I  gath- 
ered her  up  once  more,  staggered  down,  and  out  into 
the  sweet,  clear  open  air,  while  the  young  men  held 
me  right  and  left.  She  had  twined  her  arms  tight 
round  my  neck,  still  quivering  and  trembling  in  every 
limb. 

In  the  courtyard  the  crowd  fell  apart,  cheering,  as 
the  Master  came  to  us.  He  was  calm  and  collected; 
but  his  face  worked  with  emotion  as  he  lifted  Alice 
Dynevor  off  my  shoulder.  And  as  he  did  so,  I  felt 
upon  my  cheek,  upon  my  lips — was  It  my  'fancy? — 
surely  not — a   kiss,   warm   and   ardent.     A   living 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  237 

woman's  kiss — the  first  I  had  ever  known  since  my 
mother's  kisses  in  childhood,  long  years  ago. 

I  was  somewhat  of  a  stoic — stoic  by  ill-health  and 
cold  blood;  stoic  by  long  self-restraint;  yet  that  kiss 
made  me  start  and  shudder,  not  with  pain.  I  could 
not  forget  it.  The  sensation  of  its  impress  remained 
with  me  for  many  hours. 

I  ascertained  that,  although  the  Master's  Lodge 
was  practically  gutted,  a  fair  proportion  of  its  con- 
tents in  the  way  of  books  and  furniture  was  saved. 
The  fire,  successfully  checked  right  and  left,  had 
spared  both  the  Chapel  and  Hall.  With  that  assur- 
ance, worn  out  both  in  body  and  mind,  bruised, 
scorched,  begrimed,  a  sorry  enough  sight,  I  man- 
aged to  slip  out  of  the  kindly  and  excited  throng 
unobserved.  Assuredly  I  had  earned  my  sleep 
to-night ! 

But  another  disquieting  episode  was  in  store  for 
me  before  I  got  it. 

For  as,  wearily  and  painfully,  I  climbed  my  stair- 
case, I  heard  footsteps  coming  out  from  my  rooms. 
I  hurried  to  the  best  of  my  power;  but,  ere  I  reached 
the  first  landing,  they  travelled  on  cautiously  to  the 
second.  I  followed  thither.  Doors  stood  open  on 
to  rooms,  empty  and  dark,  for  the  men  were  still 
busy  in  the  court  below.  But  in  one  I  saw  a  twinkling 
light.  I  entered,  without  apology,  to  find  friend 
Halidane,  hastily  divesting  himself  of  coat  and  waist- 
coat preparatory  to  going  to  bed. 

*'  My  dear  Brownlow!  "  he  exclaimed,  with  effu- 
sive cordiality,  though,  as  I  fancied,  some  confusion. 


238  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  What  brings  you  here  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  Alas ! 
I  see  you  are  hurt.  Let  me  come  down  and  dress 
your  wounds. — Nay,  nay,  do  not  deny  me  the  chris- 
tian joy  of  tending  on  a  christian  hero  in  his  suffer- 
ing and  distress." 

"  You  were  in  my  rooms  just  now,  were  you  not?  " 
I  asked  bluntly. 

"  I — why  should  I  be  in  your  rooms?  Or  rather, 
indeed,  why  should  I  not?  I  looked  in  at  your  door, 
it  being  unfastened,  hearing  you  had  left  the  quad, 
and  longing  to  assist  you  after  your  fatigues.  But, 
finding  no  light,  came  upstairs  at  once.  I  assure  you 
— Ah !  do  not  deny  me — let  me  help  you  to  prepare 
for  rest." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  I  said,  convinced,  from  his  very 
anxiety  to  allay  my  suspicions,  that  he  lied.  Smug 
though  his  countenance  was,  he  could  not  hide  an 
expression  which  spelled  guilt — at  least  so  I  thought. 
As  for  his  not  looking  me  in  the  face  when  he  spoke, 
he  never  did  so — hence  nothing  could  be  inferred 
from  that. 

I  turned  to  go,  while  he  alternately  bepraised  my 
conduct  and  bemoaned  my  sufferings — one  as  ful- 
somely  as  the  other.  He  followed  me  to  my  door, 
nervously,  as  I  thought;  but  I  sported  him  out  firmly, 
if  civilly,  leaving  him  in  no  doubt  that  I  did  not 
covet  his  presence.  I  lighted  a  lamp,  and  then  I 
hastened  to  examine  the  big  book.  I  reasoned  with 
my  alarm,  for  it  was  not  possible  that  he  knew  Hart- 
over's  letter  lay  hidden  in  it.  But  alarm  remained. 
I  was  constantly  and  radically  distrustful  of  the  man. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  239 

Tired  out  though  I  was,  before  all  things  I  must 
make  sure  the  letter  was  safe. 

Yes,  it  was  safe  enough.  With  a  sigh  of  relief  I 
locked  it  away  in  my  desk.  But  what  was  that  on 
the  shiny  surface  of  the  table? — A  large  drop  of 
tallow. 

All  my  suspicions  revived.  I  opened  the  lexicon 
again.  I  did  not  know  at  what  page  I  had  put  in  the 
letter,  but  I  found  out  only  too  soon.  Inside  the 
leaf  edges  was  a  smear  of  tallow,  which  led  me  to 
notice  a  couple  more  big  drops  badly  defacing  the 
text.  Clumsy  rogue !  For  surely  there  was  a  candle 
on  his  chimney-piece  when  I  saw  him  upstairs  ?  Still, 
it  might  have  been  the  gyp  or  bed-maker.  No;  they 
would  certainly  be  at  the  fire,  and  what  could  they 
be  doing  in  any  man's  room  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning? 

Blaming  myself  bitterly  for  my  carelessness,  I  un- 
dressed; and  lay  tossing,  sleepless,  till  dawn,  what 
with  exhaustion,  excitement,  the  dread  that  prying 
hypocrite  had  learned  my  dear  boy's  secret,  and — 
must  I  admit  it? — the  memory  of  Alice  Dynevor's 
kiss. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

And  here  I  must  make  a  confession,  if  I  am  to  put 
my  story  honestly  upon  paper.  For  the  events  of 
that  night  produced  results  upon  which  I  cannot  look 
back  with  satisfaction. 

True,  the  position  in  which  they  placed  me  was 
none  of  my  own  seeking,  but  forced  on  me  by  cir- 
cumstance. Still,  I  cannot  wholly  excuse  myself  of 
fault.  Like  most  men,  I  suppose,  I  possess  a  fair 
share  of  vanity;  though,  Heaven  knows,  in  my  case, 
what  with  lameness,  poverty,  and  the  obscurity  of 
my  early  lot,  vanity  had  little  enough,  so  far,  to  feed 
upon.  Perhaps,  on  this  very  account,  it  was  all  the 
more  greedy  of  sustenance.  My  rescue  of  Alice 
Dynevor  was  the  nine  days'  wonder  of  the  College. 
I  was  acclaimed  a  veritable  hero.  This  affected  me 
but  little.  Granted  the  opportunity,  a  score  of  men, 
as  I  told  them,  would  have  done  everything  I  had, 
and  probably  done  It  ten  times  better.  Having  risked 
my  life  once  to  save  a  few  hounds,  there  was  no 
great  credit  in  risking  It  a  second  time  to  save  a 
human  being. 

But  the  matter  did  not  end  there.  It  would  have 
been  better  had  it  done  so — for  my  conscience's  sake, 
and,  I  am  afraid,  for  the  peace  of  mind  of  others. 
What  my  kind  old  friend  and  Master  said  to  me  I 
shall  not  repeat.    Still  less  shall  I  repeat  what  was 

240 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  241 

said  to  me  by  Mrs.  Dynevor.  Who  dare  measure 
the  tenderness  of  a  mother's  heart  or  the  generosity 
of  Its  gratitude? 

While  the  Lodge  was  refitting  and  rebuilding,  the 
Master  removed  to  a  house  In  Trumplngton  Street, 
near  the  FitzwIUIam  Museum,  surrounded  by  large 
park-like  grounds.  The  three  ladles  were  still  his 
guests;  Indeed,  report  declared  they  had  taken  up 
their  abode  with  him  permanently.  Here,  I  was 
asked  to  dinner  often,  twice  a  week  perhaps;  and 
told,  moreover,  to  consider  myself  on  the  footing  of 
an  Intimate  friend,  free  to  come  In  and  out  when  I 
liked.  And  pleasant  enough  was  that  permission. 
Pleasant  to  a  lonely  man,  such  as  I,  to  meet  bright 
smiling  faces,  to  sit  and  talk,  or  listen  to  music,  to  be 
petted — mothered  almost — by  a  comely  older 
woman,  welcomed  and  made  much  of  by  younger 
ones.  The  whole  thing  was  new  to  me — new  as  It 
was  flattering  and  charming.  I  slipped  Into  some- 
thing approaching  Intimacy  before  I  realised  what 
was  happening. 

For,  as  the  days  went  by,  I  could  not  but  perceive 
that  Alice,  the  girl  whose  life  I  had  saved,  bestowed 
on  me  very  kindly  glances — glances  In  which  I, 
though  unskilled  In  such  language,  read  something 
deeper  and — shall  I  say? — sweeter  than  mere  grati- 
tude. To  her  kiss — if  kiss  Indeed  It  was — given  un- 
der the  stress  of  great  emotion,  I  did  not  attach 
importance.  To  do  so  would  have  been.  In  my  opin- 
ion, both  unchlvalrous  and  fatuous.  But,  as  between 
m^n  and  maid,  there  Is  a  light  In  young  eyes  which 


242  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

can  hardly  be  mistaken  by  even  the  most  cold-blooded 
or  most  Ignorant.  And  that  light  I  beheld,  evening 
after  evening,  upon  her  smiling  and  ingenuous  coun- 
tenance. 

She  was  not,  as  I  have  already  said,  particularly 
pretty,  or  particularly  clever,  or  particularly  any- 
thing beyond  being  well  educated  and  well  brought 
up,  with  the  good  manners  which  come  of  an  amiable 
nature  and  the  habit  of  moving  in  the  society  of  her 
equals.  But  for  the  experiences  of  that  fearful  night 
I  should,  in  all  probability,  have  met  her,  parted 
from  her,  and  remembrance  of  her  would  have  faded 
from  my  mind  altogether.  As  it  was,  I  could  not  but 
observe — nor  deny  I  took  a  certain  pleasure  in  ob- 
serving— that  she  sought  and  preferred  my  com- 
pany; that  when  we  talked  she  led  the  conversation, 
In  as  far  as  she  knew  how,  to  tender,  earnest,  fanci- 
ful subjects — such  as,  In  those  days,  were  called 
"  sentiment  "^ — and  tried  to  gain  a  response  from  me. 
And,  within  certain  limits,  my  vanity  being  flattered 
though  my  heart  was  untouched,  I  did  respond.  I 
had  no  wish  to  mislead  her;  but  I  was  weak  and 
self-indulgent  In  that,  the  present  being  agreeable,  I 
let  things  drift. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  justify,  or  indeed  quite  to 
understand  my  own  state  of  mind  at  that  period.  I 
was  still  under  the  Influence  of  my  trouble  and  disap- 
pointment about  Hartover,  the  bitterness  of  my  own 
Inability  to  help  the  dear  boy,  and  save  him  from  the 
consequences  of  his  own  Ill-judged  action.  I  trem- 
bled for  his  future.    I  had  written  to  him,  and  oh ! 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  243 

what  a  letter  to  write !  To  be  at  once  truthful  and 
moderate  required  all  my  judgment  and  tact.  I  could 
not  approve,  yet  I  feared  to  alienate  him  by  expres- 
sion of  my  real  feeling.  My  love  for  Nellie  Braith- 
waite  told  on  me,  too — and  the  temptation  to  profit 
by  Hartover's  marriage  .  and  press  my  own  suit. 
Thus,  perplexed  and  unhappy,  I  fell,  I  own,  from 
high  standards  of  endeavour.  The  things  dearest  to 
me  I  had  failed  in,  or  knew  were  beyond  my  grasp. 
A  cheaper,  commoner  way  of  success  and  of  happi- 
ness— happiness,  that  is,  of  a  sort — lay  open  to  me. 
Should  I  fling  aside  impossible  ideals,  and  take  it? 

For  I  could  not  but  observe,  further,  that  Mrs. 
Dynevor,  and  the  Master  himself,  looked  on  at  my 
intercourse  with  Alice  complacently  enough;  that  the 
former  managed  adroitly  to  throw  us  together,  en- 
couraged us  to  sing  and  read  together,  found  oppor- 
tunities for  leaving  us  alone  often — and  too  often. 
After  all,  I  was  no  unfit  match  for  her  daughter.  I 
was  already  a  fellow  and  tutor  of  my  College,  with 
the  prospect  of  a  good  college  living  hereafter:  the 
prospect  if  the  Hartover  interest  did  fail  me — and 
fail  me,  I  felt  pretty  sure  for  many  reasons,  it  would 
not — of  presentation  to  the  first  rich  living  In  Lord 
Longmoor's  gift  which  might  fall  vacant  if  I  chose  to 
apply  for  it.  I  was  as  well  born  as  the  Master.  He 
had  made  his  way  In  the  world,  even  as  I  was  In  the 
act  of  making  mine,  by  personal  ability  and  scholar- 
ship. Hence,  on  the  score  of  station,  there  could  be 
no  valid  objection  to  my  suit. 

Should  I  then — for  there  were  actually  times  when 


244  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

I  began  to  ask  myself  this — ^renounce  high  romance, 
and  the  many  sacrifices  and  sorrows  which  go  along 
with  it,  and  content  myself  with  a  comfortable  coun- 
try rectory  and  the  company  of  an  amiable  and 
affectionate  wife — a  very  respectable  and  respected 
manner  of  existence  after  all,  with  chances,  more- 
over, of  doing  much  good  after  a  quiet  unostenta- 
tious fashion? 

Who  could  blame  me  if  I  accepted  such  a  future? 

No  one,  surely — unless  I  blamed  myself.  There 
was  the  crux,  the  rub.  For  should  I  not  blame  my- 
self, and  that  increasingly  as  years  went  on,  unless 
I  renounced  my  present  standards  and  declined  upon 
altogether  lower  levels  of  thought  and  effort;  unless, 
in  fact,  I  allowed  myself  to  sink  into  a  certain  moral 
and  mental  sloth — the  sloth  of  one  who,  hearing, 
refuses  the  call  to  battle,  preferring  ignobly  to  "  stay 
by  the  stuff?" 

Thus  outwardly  in  lively  and  in  pleasant  inter- 
course, inwardly  in  travail  of  spirit  and  indecision, 
time  passed  until  the  end  of  the  Lent  term  was  well 
in  sight. 

Then,  one  evening,  when  I  had  been  dining  at  the 
house  in  Trumpington  Street,  as  I  bade  the  Master 
good-night,  he  told  me  that  he,  and  Mrs.  Dynevor 
and  her  daughters,  intended  to  spend  the  vacation  at 
Bath,  and  invited  me  to  join  the  party  as  his  guest. 

"  You  really  must  come,  Brownlow,"  he  said,  "  for 
my  young  ladies  count  upon  your  escort  for  the  vari- 
ous expeditions  they  propose  to  make  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  city  of  Bladud.    They  will  be  sadly 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  245 

put  out  If  you  desert  us — and  so,  my  dear  fellow, 
shall  I." 

He  laid  his  hand  kindly  upon  my  shoulder. 

''  I  have  come  to  depend  upon  your  companion- 
ship more  than  I  ever  have  on  that  of  any  man  of 
your  age.  It  Is  a  pleasure  and  entertainment  to  me — 
I  had  almost  said  a  solace.  For  we  portly  old  bach- 
elors have  our  hours  of  regret,  you  know,  for  the 
family  Hfe  which,  for  some  reason  good  or  bad,  or 
from  no  reason  at  all  but  our  own  laziness,  we  re- 
jected, or  missed.  In  our  earlier  years.  There  comes 
a  time  to  most  of  us  when.  If  a  man  Is  wholesome, 
his  heart  In  the  right  place,  he  grows  tired  of  living 
for  and  by  himself,  and  begins  to  look  to  the  second 
generation,  to  sons  and  daughters,  for  his  interest 
and  hold  on  life.  A  risky  time ! — Some  old  fools  try 
to  retrieve  the  position  by  marrying.  That  form  of 
senile  dementia,  thank  heaven !  has  not  attacked  me 
as  yet.  But  I  own  I  like  having  young  people  about 
me.  And  specially,  Brownlow,  I  like  having  you  In 
and  out  of  my  house.  So,  my  good  fellow,  be  pre- 
pared to  pack  up  your  traps  by  this  day  week,  and 
start  with  us  for  Bath.  We  shall  take  a  post-chaise 
as  well  as  my  carriage,  and  make  a  two  days'  journey 
of  It." 

His  affection  touched  me  deeply,  the  more  so  that 
I  could  not  disguise  from  myself  the  meaning  and 
purpose  of  that  which  he  said.  It  was  an  Invitation, 
surely,  to  declare  myself  In  respect  of  Alice  Dynevor, 
an  assurance  that  such  a  declaration  had  his  approval 
and  support.    I  was  both  embarrassed  and  troubled 


246  THE  TUTOR^S  STORY 

by  self-reproach.  Immediately,  however,  my  course 
of  action  was  clear.  I  told  him,  with  many  expres- 
sions of  genuine  sorrow,  that  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  accompany  the  party  to  Bath,  since  I  had 
already  promised  to  spend  the  vacation  with  friends 
in  the  country — friends  whom  I  had  known  when  I 
was  at  Hover.  The  promise  was  of  long  standing, 
one  which,  without  flagrant  discourtesy,  I  could  not 
break.  Though  evidently  disappointed,  and  even  a 
little  vexed,  he  admitted  the  justice  of  what  I  said. 

*'  Well,  well;  perhaps,  though  you  cannot  go  with 
us,  you  can  join  us  at  Bath  for  a  week  before  our 
return.'' 

And  he  asked  me  one  or  two  questions  about  these 
Yorkshire  friends,  which  fortunately  I  could  answer 
without  making  any  mention  of  Nellie. 

I  walked  back  to  my  College  deep  in  thought.  For, 
clearly,  I  must  not  play  with  the  situation  any  longer. 
I  must  arrive  at  a  final  decision.  I  must  pull  myself 
together  and  refuse  to  drift.  Once  and  for  all  I 
must  know  my  own  mind.  But  to  do  so  I  must  see 
NeUie  Braithwaite  first. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A  WARM  drizzling  mist,  shot  with  silver  light  where 
the  April  sun  vainly  tried  to  break  through,  covered 
the  hedgeless  fields,  dark  plough  and  green  pasture, 
and  the  great  fen  lands,  as  I  drove  out  the  twenty 
miles  from  Cambridge  to  Westrea.  I  had  hired  a 
gig  from  the  livery  stable,  driven  by  a  superannuated 
post-boy,  a  withered  scrap  of  a  creature,  toothless 
and — rather  to  my  relief — silent,  save  for  profes- 
sional clickings  and  chirrupings  addressed  to  his 
horse.  The  gig  bobbed  and  curtsied  over  the  rutted 
cross-country  roads  at  a  bare  six  miles  an  hour.  We 
passed  but  few  villages,  a  few  scattered  cottages,  a 
few  farm-carts — these  mostly  drawn  by  oxen,  to  me 
an  unusual  sight.  The  country  was  bare,  featureless, 
sparsely  inhabited,  and  sad.  Once  or  twice  the  mist, 
lifting,  disclosed  vast  reed-beds  and  expanses  of  still 
blue-brown  water,  off  which,  with  strange  plaintive 
cries  and  a  mighty  whirring  and  beating  of  wings, 
great  flocks  of  wild  fowl  rose. 

As  we  neared  our  destination  the  landscape  as- 
sumed a  more  cheerful  character,  being  diversified 
by  low  hills,  fine  timber  trees,  and  patches  of  wood; 
more  prosperous,  too,  with  neater  cottages,  a  better 
type  both  of  farm  and  farming,  and  clean  running 
brooks  in  place  of  stagnant  fen. 

Directed  by  the  rubicund  and  jovial  host  of  a  way- 
247 


248  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

side  inn,  we  turned  off  the  main  road,  through  a  field 
gate,  and  drove  some  quarter  of  a  mile  down  an 
avenue  of  fine  oaks  to  a  comely  red-brick  house  set  in 
the  hollow — tile-roofed  and  gabled,  with  stacks  of 
high  twisted  chimneys,  the  whole  dating,  as  I  judged, 
from  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century.  In 
front  of  it  a  garden,  the  box-edged  borders  bright 
with  spring  flowers,  brick  walls — against  which  fruit 
trees  were  trained — on  either  hand,  stretched  down 
to  the  stream,  here  artificially  widened  into  a  sort  of 
moat,  its  banks  supported  by  masonry.  Even  now, 
through  the  drizzling  rain,  the  place  seemed  to  tell 
of  ample,  if  homely,  comfort  and  prosperity. 

Crossing  the  stream  by  a  hump-backed  brick 
bridge,  the  gig  drew  up,  amid  flutter  of  pigeons  and 
barking  of  dogs,  before  a  square  porch,  where 
Braithwaite  met  me  with  extended  hand. 

"  Well — so  here  you  are,"  he  said.  ''  And  wel- 
come to  Westrea — no  man  more  so ;  though  the  skies 
might  have  treated  you  in  kindlier  fashion,  we  must 
own." 

Then,  as  I  clambered  down  and  tipped  my  ancient 
driver,  he  lifted  out  my  carpet  bag  and  called  to 
Nellie.  And  I,  looking  once  again  into  her  beautiful 
face,  knew,  beyond  all  question  of  doubt,  that  the 
words  asking  the  Master's  niece,  Alice  Dynevor,  to 
be  my  bride  wouFd  never  be  spoken.  No — whether 
hopeless  or  not  as  to  the  final  issue,  here  my  heart 
was  anchored;  so  that,  failing  the  beloved  woman 
who  stood  before  me,  I  must  go  mateless  to  the  end 
of  my  days. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  249 

Nellie's  greeting  was  very  quiet.  Yet  I  fancied  my 
coming  gave  her  pleasure,  for  her  cheek  flushed  and 
the  old  witch-smile  played  about  her  lips.  Still,  I  use 
the  word  "  woman  "  advisedly.  For,  even  In  the 
dim  light  of  the  porch,  I  was  conscious  of  a  change 
in  her — of  something  lost,  yet  something  gained  and 
added;  of  a  greater  poise,  a  greater  dignity,  for  hers 
was — may  I  not  say  is,  and  that  how  thankfully? — 
one  of  those  natures  which  experience  and  trial  serve 
to  mature  and  enrich  rather  than  to  break. — Would 
there  were  more  of  such;  for  are  they  not  the  salt 
of  the  earth,  the  divinely  given  leaven  which,  unto 
strength,  courage,  righteousness,  leavens  the  whole 
lump?  Ah!  what  a  wife  for  my  dear,  weak,  way- 
ward, noble  boy,  Hartover! — Or,  he  being  free  no 
longer,  what  a  wife  for 

Sternly  I  put  that  thought  from  me.  To  Indulge 
It  would  be  to  sink  myself  in  Intoxicating  dreams  and 
visions,  drench  my  senses  with  sweet  poison,  emascu- 
late my  reason  and  my  will — in  a  word,  unman  my- 
self. Since  her  presence  affected  me  even  more  pro- 
foundly than  I  anticipated,  I  must,  in  honour,  arm 
myself  against  the  delight  of  it  with  all  the  fortitude 
and  prudence  I  possessed. 

We  had  passed  straight  from  the  porch  into  the 
main  living-room  of  the  house,  a  large  hall  with  a 
heavily  timbered  ceiling  and  a  big  open  fireplace  at 
the  further  end.  Some  logs  burned  cheerfully  upon 
the  hearth — a  not  unwelcome  sight  after  my  long 
drive  In  the  drizzling  mist.  Here  sweet-faced  Miss 
Ann  Bralthwalte,  in  quakerlsh  grey  gown  and  close 


250  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

net  cap,  received  me  with  kindly  speech.  Every- 
thing spoke  of  the  same  easy  circumstances  and  solid 
comfort,  along  with  an  exquisite  cleanliness  very 
pleasant  to  the  eye  and  touch. 

At  supper  Nellie  performed  her  duties  as  hostess 
with  a  pretty  solicitude  and  dignity ;  and  the  evening 
passed  in  talk,  Braithwaite  glad  enough,  I  think,  to 
hold  forth  once  more  on  social  reform,  national  and 
political  subjects.  He  certainly  talked  well  and  to 
the  point — his  views  humorously  and,  I  must  add, 
enlighteningly  different  to  those  I  was  accustomed  to 
hear  set  forth  in  College  Common-rooms  or  at  the 
High  Table  in  Hall.  But  I  fancied  his  radicalism 
sounded  a  less  temperate  and  genial  note,  and  that 
he  looked  anxiously  at  Nellie  from  time  to  time.  His 
manner  to  her  was  peculiarly  gentle,  and  he  referred 
to  her  opinion  with  an  almost  wistful  desire  to  inter- 
est her  in  our  conversation. 

I  had  no  opportunity  of  speaking  with  her  alone 
that  night,  for  which  I  was  not  altogether  sorry. 
Better  to  wait  until  the  first  sweet  torment  of  her 
nearness  had  worn  off,  and  I  had  schooled  myself  to 
accept  it  without  nervousness. 

I  rose  to  a  day  as  brilliantly  fair  as  yesterday  had 
been  wet.  Sunshine  and  fresh  air  pervaded  the 
house.  A  side  door,  in  the  hall — where  breakfast 
awaited  me — stood  open  on  to  the  garden,  the  moat, 
and  avenue  of  oaks  climbing  the  gentle  grass  slope 
beyond  to  the  sky-line. 

After  breakfast  Braithwaite  went  out  on  to  his 
farm,  and  Miss  Ann  retired  to  attend  to  some  house- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  ±^i 

hold  business.  Nellie,  an  all-round  blue  apron  tied 
over  her  light  gown  and  a  white  sunbonnet  upon  her 
head,  stood  at  the  table  gathering  scraps  of  broken 
food  into  a  bowl.  She  was  going,  so  she  told  me, 
to  feed  some  broods  of  young  chickens  in  the 
Orchard  Close;  and,  on  my  asking  permission  to  go 
with  her,  seemed  pleased  to  have  my  company.  As 
we  passed  out  of  the  porch  into  the  morning  sun- 
shine, I  could  not  but  exclaim  at  the  peaceful  charm 
of  the  place. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  It  is  peaceful — almost  too 
peaceful,  perhaps.  But  my  father  does  not  feel  that. 
He  has  plenty  to  occupy  him.  The  land  had  been 
neglected  and  the  farm  buildings  suffered  to  fall  into 
decay  before  we  came;  and  you  know  his  energy 
in  making  improvements  and  setting  things  to 
rights — working  himself  and  making,  not  only 
his  labourers,  but  nature  itself  work  for  and  with 
him." 

She  glanced  at  me  with  a  smile  of  tender  amuse- 
ment. 

"  He  is  happy  here,"  she  added. 

"  And  you?  "  I  asked,  perhaps  unwisely. 

"  If  he  is  happy,  I  am  content,"  she  answered. 
"  He  is  the  best  father  living,  and — his  will  is  mine, 
dear  Mr.  Brownlow.  It  ought  to  be  so,  for  he  is 
most  indulgent  to  me.  There  Is  nothing  I  could  ask 
for  which  he  would  not  give  me  if  he  could." 

And  she  paused. 

"If  he  could?"  I  repeated,  for  it  struck  me 
she   alluded  to   a   subject  which   must  be   in  both 


252  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

our  minds,  and  about  which  she  might  be  glad  to 
speak. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "there  are  things — or  at  least 
there  is  one  thing  he  cannot  give  me,  because  it  is — 
or  rather  was — against  his  principles  and  judgment, 
against  his  conviction  of  what  is  wise  and  right.    And 


Again  she  paused. 

"  Now  it  is  too  late." 

She  moved  forward  quickly  and  opened  the  door 
leading  into  the  Orchard  Close — some  half  acre  of 
ancient  turf,  in  which  grew  fine  old  fruit  trees,  apple, 
pear,  plum,  cherry  and  shining  leafed  walnut.  The 
pears  were  already  in  blossom,  their  pyramids  and 
wreaths  of  powdery  white  seen,  overhead,  against 
the  radiant  blue.  High  brick  walls,  mellow  with 
age  and  encrusted  in  places  with  lichens  of  every  tint 
from  vivid  orange  to  delicate  grey,  enclosed  the 
place.  Hen-coops  were  set  out  upon  the  warm  short 
grass,  over  which  a  busy  population  of  yellow  chicks 
and  ducklings  scampered  towards  us — ^their  mothers 
and  foster-mothers,  meanwhile,  craning  ruffled  necks 
between  the  wooden  bars  of  the  coops,  with  dis- 
tracted callings  and  duckings. 

With  a  wooden  spoon  Nellie  scattered  the  food 
among  them  from  her  bowl,  looking  down  at  the 
pretty,  clean,  scrambling  little  creatures — both  she, 
they,  the  blossoming  trees,  and  ruddy  walls  making 
a  charming  picture.  But  a  change  had  come  over 
her.  The  smile,  the  play  of  feature,  vanished.  The 
cheek  seemed  to  sharpen,  the  dark  line  under  the 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  253 

eyes  to  darken  yet  more.  A  settled  sadness  seemed 
to  touch  her.  Was  it  thus  she  looked  when  she  had 
not  to  amuse  her  father,  when  she  had  not  to  put  a 
force  upon  herself,  and  feign  cheerfulness  for  the 
sake  of  those  about  her — when  she  found  herself 
alone,  in  short? 

Vain  heart  of  mine ! — for  was  this  not  a  confes- 
sion that  she  dare  be  herself  before  me,  that  I  was 
privileged  to  witness  what  she  hid  from  others? 
There  was  a  compression  about  the  lips  now,  a  kind- 
ling of  the  eyes,  which  told  me  she  was  coming 
straight  to  the  point,  like  the  fine  and  fearless  woman 
she  was — but  I  little  expected  to  what  point. 

She  set  down  the  bowl  upon  the  grass,  where  the 
greedy  chicks  swarmed  over  and  into  it,  and  thrust- 
ing her  hand  within  the  bosom  of  her  dress  drew 
out  a  letter. 

*'  This  reached  me  a  week  ago,''  she  said.  "  I 
could  not  show  it  to  my  father,  nor  to  dear  Aunt  Ann. 
Had  you  not  been  coming,  I  must  have  written  to 
you,  Mr.  Brownlow.  Suspense  was  intolerable;  and, 
if  you  yourself  knew,  I  was  sure  you  would  tell  me 
the  truth." 

She  put  the  letter  into  my  hand.  I  recognised  the 
writing  at  once,  and  with  a  feeling  of  shame  and  sor- 
row, amounting  almost  to  horror,  looked  her  in  the 
face.  God!  how  glorious  it  was  in  its  agony — 
courage  which  could  meet  anything  which  must  be; 
act  on  anything  which  was  right;  and,  with  all,  such 
invincible  sweetness ! 

I  read  the  letter. 


254  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  Silly  Country  Girl — Listen  to  me,  and  cease 
to  follow  what  you  will  never  win  and  try  to  reach 
honours  which  belong  to  bolder  hearts  than  yours. 
You  are  thrown  aside  and  done  with,  like  his  old 
glove,  his  old  shoe.  Know,  then — but  do  not  tell  it, 
for  the  day  you  do  tell  shall  be  the  last  safe  one  of 
your  life — that  he  is  married  already;  and  to  me,  who 
am  far  cleverer  than  you,  and  can  please  him  better, 
love  him  better  than  you,  ignorant  little  peasant, 
could  ever  please  or  love." 


"  Devil !  "  was  all  I  said,  as  I  finished  this  melo- 
dramatic effusion,  for  anger  and  disgust  choked  me. 

*'  It  is  so  then?  " — from  Nellie,  watching  me. 

*' You  asked  me  to  be  truthful? — ^It  is.  I  know 
the  handwriting  too  well." 

"Whose  is  it?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  but  steady 
voice. 

"  That  of  the  person — the  Frenchwoman — whom 
he  has  married." 

"  Mademoiselle  Fedore,  who  used  to  be  at 
Hover?" 

"  Mademoiselle  Fedore." 

She  raised  her  head,  standing  stiffly  erect,  her 
whole  form  tense  and  rigid  for  a  moment.  I  could 
not  speak.  What  comfort  could  I  offer?  Her  grief 
was  too  sacred  for  me  to  profane  it  with  any  chance 
words  of  sympathy.  I  could  only  admire,  reverence, 
— aye,  and  worship — before  this  martyrdom  of  true 
love. 

At  last :  "  I  believed  it.  Yes — I  was  sure  from  the 
first.    But  it  is  very  cruel.    I  have  not  deserved  that 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY.  255 

insult.  Whom  have  I  followed?  What  honours 
have  I  tried  to  reach?  I  have  striven,  dear  Mr. 
Brownlow,  not  even  to  think  of  him.  Ever  since  my 
father  forbade  me  to  see  him,  or  hold  any  sort  of 
intercourse  with  him,  there  was  but  one  thing  to  do 
— to  obey.  And  I  have  obeyed.  God  knows  that  I 
have.    You  believe  me?  " 

She  glanced  up  in  my  face  with  something  of  the 
old  witch-smile.  My  eyes  answered  yes.  I  dared  not 
trust  myself  to  speak.  She  looked  down  again  on  to 
the  smooth  turf  and  soft,  scrambling,  peeping  chick- 
ens. 

"  Tell  me — I  only  saw  her  once,  and  saw  she  was 
very  handsome.  But  is  she — is  she  worthy  of 
him?" 

"  Do  not  ask  me,"  I  said,  weakly  perhaps;  but  I 
was  hard  pressed,  wellnigh  desperate.  "  Judge  for 
yourself  of  the  nature  of  the  woman  who  could  write 
such  a  letter." 

"  No,  if  I  begin  to  judge,  if  I  begin  to  fancy,  I 
should  go — it  is  wrong,  it  is  wicked  of  me — but  I 
feel,  at  times,  I  should  go  mad." 

She  was  silent  again,  looking  down.    Then: 

"  God  forgive  her — for  this  letter  has  undone  the 
work  of  months.  Ever  since  we  left  Yorkshire,  and 
came  here  to  Westrea,  I  have  struggled  for  my 
father's  sake,  for  Aunt  Ann's — and  for  my  own 
pride's  sake  too — to  put  the  thought  of  him  out  of 
my  mind,  and  interest  myself  in  books,  in  my  father's 
schemes,  and  in  my  own  home  duties.  I  believed  I 
had  conquered  myself,  conquered  my — my  love.    But 


256  THE  TUTOR^S  STORY 

this  letter  brought  back  all  the  pain,  and  stirred  up 
something  violent  and  evil  in  me — something  I  have 
never  felt  before.  It  is  degrading.  I  am  jealous, 
dear  Mr.  Brownlow — jealous.  Do  you  know  what 
that  means?  " 

Alas!  did  I  not  know? — ^and  most  bitterly! 

"  But  of  course  you  do  not.  How  should  you  ?  '* 
she  went  on. 

How  should  I  indeed? — And  she  smiled  at  me  in 
lovely  apology,  thereby  cutting  me  to  the  quick.  For 
did  not  her  words,  her  look,  show  how  wholly  inno- 
cent and  ignorant  she  was  of  all  personal  feeling  on 
my  part? 

Well,  and  if  so,  what  had  I  to  complain  of? 
Earlier,  had  it  not  been  an  integral  element  in  that 
mystic,  fantastic  inner  life  of  mine,  to  conceive  of  her 
loving  the  dear  boy  as  deeply,  eternally,  even  though 
as  hopelessly,  as  I  loved  her?  Now  that  my  concep- 
tion proved  true  in  fact,  what  cause  had  I  to  be  hurt, 
and  to  shrink?  Was  it  not  inconsistent,  illogical,  a 
very  height  of  unreason?  I  took  myself  to  task  for 
my  folly;  but  I  suffered.  Meanwhile  an  idea  oc- 
curred to  me,  but  I  dared  not  put  it  into  execution 
yet.  In  Fedore's  letter  was  one  lie  which  could  and, 
in  justice  to  the  dear  boy,  ought  to  be  refuted.  But 
I  must  wait  until  I  could  judge  better  of  Nellie's  pow- 
ers of  endurance,  and  better  trust  my  own  calmness 
and  nerve  in  handling  a  very  delicate  subject. 

Now  I  only  said  to  her: 

"Will  you  trust  me  with  this  letter,  and  let  me 
keep  it  for  the  present?" 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  257 

"Why?" 

"  Because — forgive  me  if  I  seem  to  preach  to  you 
— as  long  as  it  remains  in  your  possession,  you  can- 
not, I  think,  but  read  and  re-read  it." 

"  That  is  true,"  she  said. 

"  And  each  time  you  do  so,  you  renew  your  own 
pain,  renew — quite  naturally — your  sense  of  injury, 
of  anger  at  the  insult  offered  you.  Yet  this  renewal 
works  to  no  good  end.  It  is  useless,  merely  causing 
you  to  move  in  a  vicious  circle,  since  it  cannot  alter 
the  facts  or  affect  the  result." 

''Yes — yes,"  she  said.  "Ah!  how  well  you  un- 
derstand, dear  Mr.  Brownlow !  Keep  the  letter.  It 
is  better  out  of  my  possession.  And  I  feel  less  un- 
happy now  that  I  have  spoken  to  you.  I  longed  for, 
yet  dreaded,  your  coming.  I  knew  that  I  should 
want  to  tell  you  of  this — to  speak  freely  to  you ;  and 
yet  I  doubted  if  it  were  possible  to  talk  on  such  a 
subject  without  seeming  wanting  in  modesty.  But 
you  have  made  it  easy  by  your  sympathy — which  I 
feel.  It  is  wonderful.  And  I  am  very  grateful — 
more  grateful  than  I  can  express." 

For  the  first  time  her  eyes  had  tears  in  them,  and 
her  brave  lips  quivered.  I  could  bear  no  more.  I 
turned  and  walked  away  a  few  steps,  the  sunshine 
gay  among  the  pear  blossoms  above  my  head,  warm 
upon  the  turf  at  my  feet.  Ah,  dear  God,  what  a 
beautiful  world — and  I  to  go  through  it  lonely  all 
the  days  of  my  life ! 

Nellie  picked  up  her  bowl  and  came  after  me,  a 
wistfulness  in  her  sweet  face. 


258  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"What  is  the  matter,  dear  Mr.  Brownlow?  I 
have  not  offended  you?  "  she  said. 

"  No — ten  thousand  times,  no,'*  I  answered. 
*'  But  the  times  are  somewhat  out  of  joint,  and — 
well — would  to  Heaven  I  were  a  better,  abler  man  to 
set  them  right !  " 

Just  then  Braithwaite  hailed  us  from  the  door- 
way. We  joined  him  and,  with  him,  went  back  to 
the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

That  was  the  first  of  many  days — for  by  both 
Braithwaite's  and  NelHe's  request  I  stayed  on  at 
Westrea  until  nearly  the  end  of  the  vacation — of 
sweet  but  very  searching  experience.  If  I  played 
with  fire  it  was  a  purifying  fire  surely,  burning  away 
the  baser  metal  and  leaving  whatever  of  gold  might 
be  in  me  free  of  dross. 

Not  that  I  say  this  boastfully — who  am  I,  indeed, 
to  boast? — but  humbly  and  thankfully,  knowing  I 
passed  through  an  ordeal  from  which — while  the 
animal  man  cowered  and  shrank,  crying  aloud,  aye, 
and  with  tears  of  agony,  to  be  spared — the  spiritual 
man  drew  strength  and  rose,  in  God's  mercy,  to 
greater  fulness  of  life.  For  I  learned  very  much, 
and  that  at  first  hand,  by  personal  experiment,  not 
by  hearsay  merely  or,  parrot-like,  by  rote.  Learned 
the  truth  of  the  apostle's  dictum,  that  although  "  all 
things  are  lawful,"  yet,  for  some  of  us,  many  things, 
however  good  in  themselves  or  good  for  others,  are 
"  not  expedient."  Learned,  too,  the  value  of  the 
second  best,  learned  to  accept  the  lower  place. 
Learned  to  rejoice  in  friendship,  since  the  greater 
joys  of  love  were  denied  me,  schooling  myself  to 
play  a  brother's  part;  play  it  fearlessly  and,  as  I 
trust,  unselfishly,  watchful  that  neither  by  word,  or 
deed,  or  even  by  look,  I  overstepped  the  limit  I  had 

259 


26o  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

set  myself  and  forfeited  the  trust  and  faith  Nellie 
reposed  in  me. 

To  do  this  was  no  easy  matter.  At  moments,  I 
own,  the  springs  of  courage  and  resolution  ran  peril- 
ously dry.  Then  I  would  go  away  by  myself  for  a 
time;  and — why  should  I  hesitate  to  tell  it? — pray, 
wrestle  in  prayer,  for  self-mastery  which,  with  that 
wrestling,  came.  For  if  we  are  honest  with  our- 
selves and  with  Him,  disdaining  self-pity  and  self- 
excuse.  Almighty  God  is  very  safe  to  fulfil  His  part 
of  the  bargain.  This,  also,  I  learned,  during  those 
sweet  and  searching  days  at  Westrea,  beyond  all 
question  of  doubt. 

I  rode  or  drove  with  Braithwaite  about  the  neigh- 
bouring country.  Walked  with  him  over  his  farm. 
Talked  with  him  endlessly  of  his  agricultural  schemes 
and  improvements.  Talked  with  him  about  public 
events,  too,  and  about  poHtics.  Only  once  or  twice 
was  Hartover,  or  Hover,  mentioned;  and  then,  I 
observed,  his  tone  took  on  a  certain  bitterness.  He 
had  been  up  to  Yorkshire  on  business  a  little  prior  to 
my  visit,  had  happened  to  run  across  Warcop — ■ 
aged  and  sad,  so  he  told  me.  But  my  old  friend  laid 
aside  much  of  his  customary  caution,  it  appeared,  on 
hearing  Braithwaite  expected  shortly  to  see  me,  and 
bade  him  tell  me  things  were  not  well  at  Hover. 

"  What  he  actually  knows,  what  he  only  suspects, 
I  could  not  quite  discover,"  Braithwaite  went  on. 
*'  But  I  gathered  the  Countess  has  been  up  to  queer 
tricks.  As  to  that  business,  now,  of  the  Italian  rascal 
going  off  with  the  plate — you  heard  of  it? — well,  it 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  261 

looks  uncommonly  as  though  my  lady  was  in  no  haste 
to  have  him  laid  by  the  heels — bamboozled  the 
police,  as  she  bamboozles  pretty  well  every  unlucky 
wretch  she  comes  across,  until  he  had  time  to  make 
good  his  escape." 

''And  the  Colonel?  "I  asked. 

"  A  dark  horse.  Connived  at  the  fellow's  escape, 
too,  I  am  inclined  to  think.  Marsigli  knew  too  much 
of  the  family  goings-on,  and,  if  he  was  caught,  was 
pretty  sure  to  blab  in  revenge.  I  am  not  given  to 
troubling  myself  about  the  unsavoury  doings  of  great 
folks,  Brownlow.  They  had  a  short  way  with  aristo- 
cratic heads  during  the  French  Revolution  at  the  end 
of  last  century,  and  I  am  not  altogether  sure  they 
weren't  right.  But  for  my  poor  Nellie's  sake,  I 
should  never  give  that  Longmoor  faction  a  second 
thought.  As  it  is  I  have  been  obliged  to  think  about 
them,  and  I  believe  the  plain  English  of  the  whole 
affair  is  that  the  Colonel  and  my  lady  have  been  on 
better  terms  than  they  should  be  for  many  years  past. 
What  she  wants  is  a  second  Lord  Longmoor  as  hus- 
band, and  the  money,  and  the  property,  and — a  son 
of  her  own  to  inherit  it.  An  ugly  accusation?  Yes. 
But  can  you  spell  out  the  mystery  any  better  way 
than  that?" 

I  did  not  know  that  I  could,  and  told  him  so. 
There  the  conversation  dropped,  while  my  mind  went 
back  to  the  letter  Nellie  had  shown  me. — It  was  a 
devilish  action  of  Fedore's,  I  thought,  the  mark  of  a 
base,  cruel  nature,  capable — the  last  sin — of  tramp- 
ling on  the  fallen.    And  yet  might  it  not  have  been 


262  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

dictated  by  the  pardonable  desire  to  secure  her  prize 
for  herself,  to  prevent  pursuit,  inquiry,  scandal,  per- 
haps fresh  misery  for  Nellie?  There  are  two  sides, 
two  explanations,  of  every  human  act;  and  the  char- 
itable one  is  just  as  rational,  often  more  so,  than  the 
uncharitable.  If  she  stated  her  case  somewhat 
coarsely,  was  she  not  low-bred,  ill-taught,  excited  by 
success? 

Thus  did  I  argue  with  myself,  trying  to  excuse  the 
woman,  lest  I  should  let  anger  get  the  upper  hand 
of  reason  and  judgment.  But  what  was  her  relation 
to  Marsigli?  This  it  was  which  really  mattered, 
which  was  of  lasting  moment.  And  about  this  I  must 
be  silent,  be  cool  and  prudent.  At  present  I  could 
take  no  action.    I  must  wait  on  events. 

Meanwhile  each  day  brought  me  a  closer  acquaint- 
ance with,  and  respect  for,  Nellie's  character;  the 
liveliness  of  her  intelligence,  and  justness  of  her  taste. 
And  to  it,  the  intellectual  side  of  her  nature,  I  made 
my  appeal,  trying  to  take  her  mind  off  personal  mat- 
ters and  interest  her  in  literature  and  thought.  On 
warm  mornings,  her  household  duties  finished,  she 
would  bring  her  needlework  out  to  a  sheltered  spot 
In  the  garden,  where  the  high  red-brick  wall  formed 
an  angle  with  the  house  front;  and  sitting  there,  the 
flowers,  the  brimming  water,  the  gently  upward 
sloping  grass-land  and  avenue  of  oaks  before  us,  I 
would  read  aloud  to  her  from  her  favourite  authors 
or  introduce  her  to  books  she  had  not  yet  read.  On 
chill  evenings  we  would  sit  beside  the  wood  fire  in 
the  hall,  while  Braithwaite  was  busy  with  the  news- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  263 

paper  or  accounts,  and  read  till  the  dying  twilight 
obliged  her  to  rise  and  light  the  lamp.  Much  of 
Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Scott,  along  with  Pope's 
rendering  of  the  Iliad,  Hazlitt's  Lectures  and  Lamb's 
Essays,  we  studied  thus.  Shelley,  save  for  a  few  of 
the  lyrics,  we  avoided  by  tacit  consent;  and  Byron 
likewise,  with  the  exception  of  certain  portions  of 
*'  Childe  Harold  ";  the  heroic  rather  than  the  senti- 
mental note  seeming  safest — though  from  different 
causes — to  us  both. 

Often  I  would  illustrate  our  reading  by  telling  her 
about  the  authors,  the  places,  or  the  period  with 
which  it  dealt,  to  see  her  hands  drop  in  her  lap,  her 
face  grow  bright,  her  manner  animated,  as  she  lis- 
tened and  questioned  me — argued  a  little  too,  if  she 
differed  from  my  opinion.  Sometimes  she  laughed 
with  frank  enjoyment  at  some  merry  tale  or  novel 
idea.  And  then  I  was  indeed  rewarded — only  too 
well  rewarded.  For  her  laughter  was  exquisite  to 
me,  both  in  sound  and  in  token  of — were  it  but  mo- 
mentary— lightness  of  heart. 

After  that  first  morning  in  the  Orchard  Close,  we 
rarely  mentioned  the  dear  boy.  I  felt  nothing  could 
be  gained  by  leading  the  conversation  in  his  direction. 
If  it  would  afford  her  relief,  if  she  wanted  to  speak, 
she  knew  by  now,  I  felt,  she  could  do  so  without  em- 
barrassment or  fear  of  misunderstanding  on  my  part. 
But  it  was  not  until  the  afternoon  of  the  day  preced- 
ing my  return  to  Cambridge  that  we  had  any  pro- 
longed talk  on  the  subject. 

Braithwaite,  I  remember,  had  driven  over  to  Thet- 


264  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

ford  upon  business;  and,  at  Nellie's  request,  I  walked 
with  her  to  the  village,  so  that  she  might  show  me 
the  fine  old  monuments  and  brasses  in  the  parish 
church. 

Coming  back  across  the  fields,  we  lingered  a  little, 
watching  the  loveliness  of  the  early  May  sunset. 
For,  looking  westward,  all  the  land  lay  drenched  in 
golden  haze,  which — obliterating  the  horizon  line — 
faded  upward  into  a  faint  golden-green  sky,  across 
which  long  webs  were  drawn  of  rose  and  grey.  Out 
of  the  sunset  a  soft  wind  blew;  full,  as  it  seemed,  of 
memory  and  wistful  invitation  to — well — I  know  not 
what.  But  either  that  wind  or  consciousness  of  our 
parting  on  the  morrow  moved  Nellie  to  open  her 
heart  to  me  more  freely  than  ever  before. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Brownlow,"  she  said,  her  eyes  still 
fixed  on  that  loveliness  of  sunset — "  I  want  to  thank 
you  now,  while  we  are  still  alone,  for  all  you  have 
done  for  me.  You  have,  indeed,  been  a  good  physi- 
cian, and  I  want  you  to  know  how  much  better  I  am 
since  you  came — stronger,  and  more  at  peace.  I 
promise  you  I  will  do  my  utmost  to  keep  the  ground 
I  have  gained,  and  not  fall  back  into  the  unworthy 
state  of  mind  out  of  which  you  have  brought  me.  I 
do  not  say  I  am  cured." 

She  looked  up  at  me,  smiling. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  would  ask  that  of  me.  I 
have  no  wish  to  be — I  should,  I  think,  be  ashamed  to 
be  cured  of — of  my  love.  For  it  would  make  what 
was  most  beautiful  seem  unreal  and  untrue.  But  I 
am  resigned  to  all — almost  all — which  has  happened. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  265 

I  no  longer  kick  against  the  pricks,  or  ask  to  have 
things  otherwise.  I  shall  not  let  it  make  me  sour  or 
envious — thanks  to  you." 

And  as  she  spoke  I  read  in  her  dear  eyes  a  depth 
of  innocent  and  trustful  affection,  which  was  almost 
more  than  I  could  endure. 

"  I  have  come  to  a  better  frame  of  mind,"  she  said. 
*'  It  will  last.    It  shall  last,  I  promise  you." 

"  Then  all  is  well,"  I  answered  haltingly. 

But  as  I  spoke  her  expression  changed.  She 
walked  forward  along  the  field  path,  looking  upon 
the  ground. 

"  Yes,  all — I  suppose — is  well,"  she  repeated. 
*'  All  except  one  thing — that  hurts  still." 

"  And  what  is  that  one  thing?  " 

I  thought  I  knew.  If  I  was  right,  I  had  a  remedy 
at  hand — a  desperate  one,  perhaps,  but  she  was  firm 
enough  to  bear  it  now. 

*'  I  always  felt  how  little  I  had  to  offer,  as  against 
his  position,  his  gifts,  and  all  the  attractions  of  his 
life  at  Hover,  and  still  more  his  life  in  town.  The 
wonder  was  he  should  ever  have  found  me  worth 
caring  for  at  all.  But  I  thought  his  nature  was 
deeper  and  more  constant,  and  it  hurts — it  must 
always  hurt — that  he  should  have  forgotten  so  soon 
and  so  entirely  as  she — his  wife — says  he  has." 

*'  There  she  lied.  He  has  not  forgotten,"  I  an- 
swered.   "  Here  are  Hartover's  own  words." 

And  I  gave  her  the  letter  I  received  after  my  visit 
to  Chelsea.  Let  her  learn  the  truth,  the  whole  truth, 
as  from  his  own  lips — learn  the  best  and  the  worst 


266  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY; 

of  him,  and  so  meet  whatever  the  future  might  bring 
with  open  eyes. 

Some  twenty  yards  ahead  a  stile  and  gate  divided 
the  field  of  spring  wheat  we  were  crossing  from  the 
pasture  beyond.  I  must  leave  Nellie  to  herself.  So 
I  went  on  and  stood,  leaning  my  elbows  on  the  top 
bar  of  the  gate. 

Below,  in  the  hollow,  the  red  roofs  and  chimneys 
of  Westrea  and  a  glint  of  water  showed  through  the 
veil  of  golden  haze.  An  abode  of  peace,  of  those 
wholesome  fruitful  industries  which  link  man  to 
mother-earth  and  all  her  ancient  mysteries  of  the 
seasons,  of  seed-time  and  harvest,  rain  and  shine. 
How  far  away  in  purpose  and  sentiment  from  the 
gaudy  world  of  fashion,  of  artificial  excitement,  in- 
trigue and  acrimonious  rivalries,  to  which  my  poor 
boy,  Hartover,  now  belonged !  Yes,  and  therefore, 
since  here  her  lot  was  cast,  it  was  well  Nellie  should 
know  the  best  and  worst  of  him,  his  weakness  and  his 
fine  instincts  alike ;  because — because — in  the  back  of 
my  mind  was  a  conviction,  irrational,  unfounded, 
very  foolish  perhaps,  but  at  this  moment  absolute, 
that  the  end  was  not  yet.  And  that,  in  the  end,  by 
ways  which  I  knew  not,  once  again  Nellie  would  find 
Hartover,  and  Hartover  would  find  Nellie,  and  find- 
ing her  would  find  rest  to  his  soul,  salvation  to  his 
wayward  nature,  and  thus  escape  the  fate  of  Alcibi- 
ades,  which  I  had  always  so  dreaded  for  him,  and 
prove  worthy  of  his  high  station,  his  great  posses- 
sions, his  singular  beauty,  charm  and  talent,  even  yet. 

For  five  minutes,  nearly  ten  minutes,  while  the  gold 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  267 

faded  to  grey,  I  waited,  and  Nellie  gave  no  sign.  I 
began  to  grow  nervous  and  question  the  wisdom  of 
my  own  action.  To  her,  pure  and  high-minded  as 
she  was,  would  this  revelation  of  dissipation  and 
hard-living,  prove  too  painful,  would  she  turn  from  it 
in  anger  and  disgust?  Had  I  betrayed  my  trust,  been 
disloyal  to  the  dear  boy  in  letting  her  see  his  con- 
fession? I  bowed  my  head  upon  my  hands.  Fool, 
fool,  thus  to  rush  In  where  angels  might  truly  fear 
to  tread ! 

Then  quick,  light  footsteps  behind  me — the  rustle 
of  a  woman's  dress.  And  as,  fearful  and  humiliated, 
I,  turning,  looked  up,  Nellie's  eyes  were  like  stars, 
her  face  pale  but  glorious  in  its  exaltation  and  tri- 
umphant tenderness. 

*'  Dear  good  physician,"  she  said,  "  I  am  really 
cured  at  last — not  of,  but  by  love.  All  that  seemed 
spoilt  and  lost  is  given  back.  How  can  I  thank  you 
enough?  I  can  bear  to  be  away  from  him,  bear  to 
give  him  up,  now  that  I  know  he  really  cared  for  me, 
really  suffered  in  leaving  me.  I  can  even  forgive  her, 
though  she  has  been  cruel  and  Insolent,  because  she 
went  to  him  In  his  trouble  and  helped  to  save  his  life. 
And  I  understand  why  he  married  her — It  was  chival- 
rous and  generous  on  his  part.  It  places  him  higher 
In  my  estimation.    I  can  adjnire  him  in  that  too." 

I  gazed  at  her,  dazzled,  enchanted,  wondering. 
And  then — shame,  thrice  shame  to  me  after  all  my 
struggles,  resolutions,  prayers — the  devil  of  envy 
raised  its  evil  head,  of  bitterness  against  the  rich 
man,  who  with  all  his  gold  and  precious  stones,  his 


268  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

flocks  and  herds,  must  yet  steal  the  poor  man's  one 
jewel,  one  little  ewe  lamb. 

"  Have  you  read  all  the  letter — read  that  part  in 
which  he  speaks  of  his  first  months  in  London?  "  I 
asked. 

For  an  instant  she  looked  at  me  without  compre- 
hension, her  eyebrows  drawn  together,  in  evident 
question  and  surprise.  Then  the  tension  relaxed. 
Gently  and  sweetly  she  laughed. 

"  Ah !  yes,"  she  said.  "  I  know.  He  grew  reck- 
less— he  did  wrong.  But — but,  dear  Mr.  Brownlow 
— is  it  wicked  of  me? — I  cannot  condemn  him  for 
that — because  it  was  his  love  for  me  which  drove 
him  to  it.  He  tells  you  so  himself.  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  be  shocked — I  will  try  to  be — presently — if  you 
say  I  ought.     But  not  just  yet — please  not  just  yet." 

"  Neither  now  nor  presently,"  I  answered,  con- 
science-stricken and  ashamed.  "  You  know  far  better 
than  I  what  is  right.     Follow  your  own  heart." 

I  opened  the  gate,  and  stood  back  for  her  to  pass. 
As  she  did  so  she  paused. 

*'  You  are  displeased  with  me,"  she  said.  "  Yet 
why?  Why  did  you  let  me  read  his  letter,  except  to 
comfort  me  and  make  me  happy  by  showing  me  he 
was  not  to  blame?  " 

Why  indeed?  She  well  might  ask.  And  how  was 
I  to  answer  without  still  further  betraying  my  trust — 
my  trust  to  her,  this  time,  since  I  had  sworn  to  be  to 
her  as  a  brother  and  let  no  hint  of  my  own  feelings 
disturb  the  serenity  of  our  intercourse. 

So  I  replied,  I  am  afraid  clumsily  enough — 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  269 

"  You  are  mistaken.  And  to  show  you  how  little 
I  am  displeased  I  beg  you  to  keep  this  letter,  in  ex- 
change for  the  one  you  gave  me  to  keep.  You  may 
like  to  read  it  through  again,  from  time  to  time." 

I  held  it  out.  And  for  an  instant  she  hesitated,  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  writing,  upon  the  paper,  as  though 
these  actual  and  material  things  were  precious  in  her 
sight.  Then  she  put  her  hands  behind  her  and  shook 
her  head. 

"  No — better  not.  It  is  not  necessary,"  she  said 
with  a  child-like  gravity.  Her  whole  attitude  just 
now  was  curiously  simple  and  childlike.  "  I  have 
every  word  of  it  by  heart  already,  dear  Mr.  Brown- 
low.    I  shall  remember  every  word — always." 

And  for  a  while  we  walked  on  in  silence,  side  by 
side,  beneath  the  dying  sunset.  Upon  the  hump- 
backed bridge  spanning  the  stream  Nellie  stopped. 

"  One  thing  more,  good  physician,"  she  said,  very 
gently.  "  I  am  cut  off  from  him  for — for  ever  by 
his  marriage.  But  you  can  watch  over  him  and  care 
for  his  welfare  still.    You  will  do  so?  " 

"  Before  God — yes,"  I  answered. 

"  And,  sometimes,  you  will  let  me  hear,  you  will 
come  and  tell  me  about  him?  " 

''  Again — yes — before  God." 

And  I  smiled  to  myself,  bowing  my  head.  Oh! 
the  magnificent  and  relentless  egoism  of  love ! — But 
she  should  have  this  since  she  asked  it;  this  and  more 
than  this.  Plans  began  to  form  in  my  mind,  a  deter- 
mination to  make  sure,  whatever  it  might  cost  me, 
about  this  same  marriage  of  Hartover's.     I  would 


270  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

devote  myself  to  an  inquiry,  pursue  it  carefully,  pru- 
dently; but  pursue  it  regardless  of  time,  regardless  of 
money — such  money,  as  by  economy  and  hard  work, 
I  could  command.  For  was  not  such  an  inquiry  part, 
and  an  integral  one,  of  the  pledge  to  watch  over 
Hartover  and  care  for  his  welfare  which  I  had  so 
recently  and  solemnly  given  her?  Undoubtedly  it 
was. 

"  Thank  you,'*  she  said.  Then  after  a  pause,  "  I 
wonder  why  you  are  so  kind  to  me?  Sometimes  I 
am  almost  afraid  of  your  kindness,  lest  it  should 
make  me  selfish  and  conceited,  make  me  think  too 
highly  of  myself.  Indeed  I  will  try  better  to  deserve 
It.  I  will  read.  I  will  improve  my  mind,  so  as  to 
be  more  worthy  of  your  society  and  teaching,  when 
you  come  again. — But,  Mr.  Brownlow,  I  have  never 
kept  anything  from  my  father  until  now.  Is  it  de- 
ceitful of  me  not  to  tell  him  of  these  two  letters? 
They  would  anger  and  vex  him;  and  he  has  been  so 
much  happier  and  like  his  old  self  since  you  have 
been  with  us.  I  hate  to  disturb  him  and  open  up  the 
past." 

"  I  think  you  are,  at  least,  justified  in  waiting  for 
a  time  before  telling  him,"  I  faltered. 

For  my  poor  head  was  spinning,  and  I  had  much 
ado  to  collect  my  wits.  She  would  read,  improve 
herself,  be  more  worthy  of  my  teaching  when  I  came 
again,  forsooth! — Ah!  Nellie,  Nellie,  that  I  must 
listen  with  unmoved  pedagogic  countenance,  that  I 
must  give  you  impersonal  and  sage  advice,  out  of  a 
broken  heart! — - 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  271 

*'  Yes,  wait,"  I  repeated.  *'  Later  your  course  of 
action  may  be  made  clearer,  and  you  may  have  an 
opportunity  of  speaking  without  causing  him  annoy- 
ance or  distress.  You  are  not  disobeying  his  orders, 
in  any  case." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  again.  "  See,  the  lamps 
are  lit.  My  father  must  be  home  and  we  are  late. 
Oh!  how  I  wish  you  were  not  going  away  to-mor- 
row. He  will  miss  you,  we  shall  all  miss  you  so 
badly." 

I  did  not  sleep  much  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

The  ancient  postboy  drove  out  to  Westrea  next 
morning,  and  conveyed  me  and  my  impedimenta 
back  to  Cambridge. 

The  journey  was  a  silent  one,  I  being  as  little  dis- 
posed for  conversation  as  he.  My  thoughts  were  not 
very  cheerful.  Yet  what  had  I,  after  all,  to  make  a 
poor  mouth  about?  I  had  asked  to  know  my  own 
mind,  and  arrive  at  a  definite  decision  concerning  cer- 
tain matters  closely  affecting  my  future.  Now  I  knew 
it  very  thoroughly;  and,  as  to  those  matters,  had 
decided  once  and  for  all.  It  only  remained  for  me 
to  acquaint  my  kind  old  friend,  the  Master,  with  that 
decision  as  tactfully  and  delicately  as  might  be.  But 
how  should  I  acquit  myself?  And  how  would  he 
take  it?  And  how  far  should  I  be  compelled  to  speak 
of  Hartover  and  Nellie,  and  of  my  own  relation  to 
both,  to  make  my  meaning  clear  ?  For  what  a  tangle 
it  all  was — a  tangle  almost  humorous,  though  almost 
tragic  too,  as  such  human  tangles  mostly  are  !  Well, 
I  supposed  I  must  stick  to  my  old  method  of  blunt 
truth-telling,  leaving  the  event  to  my  Maker,  who, 
having  created  that  strange  anomaly,  the  human 
heart,  must  surely  know  how  best  to  deal  with  its 
manifold  needs  and  vagaries ! 

So  far  then,  it  was,  after  all,  fairly  plain  sailing. 
But,  unfortunately,  these  thoughts  were  not  the  only 
thing  which  troubled  me. 

272 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  273 

For  I  felt  as  well  as  thought;  and  feeling  is  more 
dangerous  than  thought  because  at  once  more  inti- 
mate and  more  intangible.  A  great  emptiness  filled 
— for  emptiness  can  fill,  just  as  silence  can  shout,  and 
that  hideously — not  only  my  own  soul  but,  as  it 
seemed,  all  Nature  around  me.  The  land  was  empty, 
the  sky  empty.  An  east-wind  blight  spread  abroad, 
taking  all  colour  out  of  the  landscape  and  warmth  out 
of  the  sunshine.  Just  so  had  my  parting  with  Nellie 
cast  a  blight  over  me,  taking  the  colour  and  warmth 
out  of  my  life.  For  I  had  been  with  her  long  enough 
for  her  presence,  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and  constant 
sight  of  her  to  become  a  habit.  How  terribly  I 
missed,  and  should  continue  to  miss,  her — not  only 
in  great  matters  but  in  small,  in  all  the  pleasant, 
trivial,  friendly  incidents  of  every  day ! 

After  the  freshness  and  spotless  cleanliness  of 
Westrea,  my  college  rooms — fond  though  I  was  of 
them — looked  dingy  and  uncared  for,  as  is  too  often 
the  way  of  an  exclusively  masculine  dwelling-place. 
The  men  had  not  come  up  yet,  which  spared  me  the 
annoyance  of  Halidane's  neighbourhood  for  the  mo- 
ment. Still  I  felt  the  depressing  lack  of  life  and 
movement  throughout  the  college  buildings  and  quad- 
rangles. Cambridge  was  asleep — a  dull  and  dismal 
sleep,  as  it  struck  me.  The  Master,  I  found,  was 
back  and  at  the  Lodge  once  more ;  but,  since  only  a 
portion  of  the  house  was  ready  for  habitation,  Mrs. 
Dynevor  and  her  daughters  would  remain  at  Bath 
for  some  weeks  longer.  This  1  was  glad  to  hear,  as 
it  promised  to  simplify  my  rather  awkward  task. 


274  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

I  called  at  the  Lodge  the  same  evening,  to  be  re- 
ceived by  the  Master  with  his  usual  cordiality.  He 
invited  me  to  stay  and  dine,  admitting  he  felt  some- 
what lonely  without  his  ladies  in  the  still  partially  dis- 
mantled house. 

"  Unlike  the  three  children  in  the  Babylonian  fur- 
nace, the  smell  of  fire  is  very  much  upon  it  still,"  he 
said.  "  Signs  and  odours  of  destruction  meet  me  at 
every  turn.  I  dare  say  in  the  end — for  I  have  an  ex- 
cellent architect — we  shall  make  a  more  comfortable 
and  certainly  more  sanitary  place  of  it  than  ever 
before;  but  the  continuity  is  broken,  much  history 
and  many  a  tradition  lost  for  good.  I  am  only 
heartily  glad  you  are  not  among  the  latter,  Brown- 
low.    It  was  a  very  near  thing." 

Whether  this  was  intended  to  give  me  an  opening 
for  explanation,  I  could  not  say.  In  any  case  I  did 
not  choose  to  take  advantage  of  it,  preferring  to 
explain  at  my  own  time  and  in  my  own  way. 

We  talked  on  general  subjects  for  a  while.  But  at 
the  end  of  dinner,  when  the  butler  left  the  room,  he 
said,  eyeing  me  with  a  twinkle — 

"  It  was  a  pity  you  could  not  manage  to  meet  us  at 
Bath,  Brownlow,  for  you  would  have  found  some  old 
friends  there.  One  of  whom,  a  very  splendid  person- 
age by  the  same  token,  made  many  gracious  inquiries 
after  you — put  me  through  the  longer  catechism  in 
respect  of  you,  and  put  my  sister  and  nieces  through 
it  also,  I  understand." 

**  Old  friends?"  I  asked,  considerably  puzzled 
both  by  his  words  and  manner. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  275 

"  You  had  not  heard,  then,  any  more  than  I, 
that  Lord  Longmoor  has  settled  permanently  at 
Bath?" 

I  assured  him  I  had  not. 

"  Yes — and  under  sad  enough  circumstances,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  change  of  tone.  "  Poor  gentleman, 
he  and  those  about  him  have  cried  wolf  for  so  many 
years  that  I,  for  one,  had  grown  sceptical  regarding 
his  ailments.  But  what  of  constitution  he  ever  pos- 
sessed has  been  undermined  by  coddling  and  dosing. 
I  was  admitted  once  or  twice,  and  was,  I  own,  most 
painfully  Impressed  by  his  appearance  and  by  his 
state  of  mind — religious  mania,  or  something  alarm- 
ingly akin  to  it,  and  that  of  at  once  the  most  abject 
and  arrogant  sort." 

I  was  greatly  shocked  by  this  news,  and  said  so. 
• ''  What  is  being  done  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Everything  that  common  sense  would  forbid,  in 
my  opinion.  He  is  surrounded  by  an  army  of  obse- 
quious servants  and  rapacious  medical  and  religious 
quacks,  all  and  each  busy  to  secure  their  private  ad- 
vantage while  fooling  him,  poor  soul,  to  the  top  of 
his  bent.  Our  hopeful  convert  and  gownsman  Hali- 
dane  had  joined  the  throng,  so  I  heard,  but  fled  at  my 
approach.  Where  the  carcass  is,  there  the  vultures 
are  gathered  together — a  repulsive  and  odious  sight, 
showing  the  case  of  Dives  may  after  all  be  hardly 
less  miserable  than  that  of  Lazarus." 

The  Master  paused. 

"  Lady  Longmoor  is  there  too ;  and  Heaven  for- 
give me,  Brownlow,"  he  added,  ''  I  could  not  but 


276  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

wonder  what  sentiments  that  remarkably  fair  lady 
really  entertains  towards  her  lord.  She  confided  in 
me  in  the  most  charming  manner;  yet,  honestly,  I 
knew  less  what  to  think  and  believe,  knew  less  how 
the  land  really  lay,  after  receiving  those  confidences 
than  before." 

In  spite  of  myself  I  was  amused.  For  could  I  not 
picture  Her  Magnificence  and  my  good,  kind,  old 
Master  in  solemn  conclave?  Picture  the  arts  and 
graces  let  loose  on  him,  the  touching  appeals,  admis- 
sions, protests;  the  disarming  innocence  of  glance 
and  gesture,  along  with  flashes  of  naughty  laughter, 
beneath  the  black-fringed  eyelids,  in  the  demurely 
downcast  eyes. 

*'  Her  ladyship's  communications  are  not  always 
easy  to  interpret.  They  are  not  always  intended  to 
enlighten — perhaps,"  I  ventured. 

"  Then  you  too,  have  been  honoured?  " 

"  I  have." 

He  chuckled. 

But,  In  my  case,  amusement  speedily  gave  place  to 
sober  reflection.  For  if  Lord  Longmoor  was  in  so 
critical  a  condition,  dying  possibly,  what  an  im- 
mense change  In  Hartover's  position  this  entailed! 
All  my  fears  for  the  dear  boy  reawakened.  What 
means  might  not  be  taken  to  embroil  him  with  his 
father,  at  this  critical  moment,  to  injure  and  dis- 
possess him !  Particularly  did  I  dislike  the  fact  that 
Halidane  had  been  In  attendance.  I  questioned  the 
Master  anxiously. 

"  Ah!  there  you  have  me,  Brownlow,"  he  repHed. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  277 

*'  Lord  Hartover  Is  a  point  upon  which  my  lady's 
confidences  proved  pecuHarly  obscure.  She  spoke  of 
her  '  dear  George  '  with  a  great  show  of  affection, 
deploring  that  the  festivities  In  celebration  of  his 
coming  of  age  next  month  must  be  postponed.  She 
had  so  counted  on  seeing  both  you  and  me  at  Hover 
then,  she  declared.  Deploring,  also " — and  he 
looked  rather  hard  at  me,  I  thought,  across  the  cor- 
ner of  the  dinner  table  over  the  row  of  decanters,  as 
he  spoke — ''  deploring  also  an  unfortunate  disposi- 
tion In  her  stepson  to  become  enamoured  of  young 
women  very  much  beneath  him  in  the  social  scale. 
She  gave  me  to  understand  both  she  and  his  father 
had  been  caused  much  annoyance  and  trouble  by  more 
than  one  affair  of  this  sort.  Yet  I  could  not  help 
fancying  she  sought  Information,  just  then,  rather 
than  offered  It.  I  had  a  notion — I  may  have  been 
mistaken — she  was  doing  her  best  to  pump  me  and 
find  out  whether  I  had  heard  anything  from  you  upon 
the  subject  of  these  amatory  escapades.  Come, 
Brownlow — for  my  instruction,  not  for  hers — can 
you  fill  in  the  gaps?  " 

I  hesitated.  Had  the  right  moment  come  for  ex- 
planation? I  believed  that  It  had.  And  so,  as  plainly 
and  briefly  as  I  could,  I  told  him  the  whole  story.  I 
kept  back  nothing — why  should  I  ?  There  was  noth- 
ing to  be  ashamed  of,  though  somewhat  to  grieve 
over,  and  much  to  regret.  I  told  him  of  Nellie,  of 
Fedore ;  of  Hartover's  love,  Hartover's  marriage.  I 
told  him  of  my  own  love. 

For  a  while  he  remained  silent.    Then,  laying  his 


278  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

hand  on  my  shoulder,  as  I  sat,  my  elbows  upon  the 
table,  my  face  buried  in  my  hands — 

"  My  poor  fellow,  my  poor  fellow — I  had  no 
notion  of  all  this,"  he  said.  "  So  this  is  the  upshot  of 
your  two  years  at  Hover.  I  sent  you  out  to  make 
your  fortune,  and  you  found  your  fate.  Well — well 
— things  are  as  they  are;  but  I  do  not  deny  that 
recently  I  had  formed  very  different  plans  for  you." 

"  Do  not  think  me  presumptuous,  sir,  if  I  answer 
I  feared  as  much.  And  that  is  my  reason  for  telling 
you  what  I  have  told  no  other  human  being — what, 
indeed,  I  had  hoped  to  keep  locked  inviolably  in  my 
own  breast  as  long  as  I  live." 

Something  in  my  tone  or  in  my  narrative  must 
have  stirred  him  deeply,  for  he  rose  and  took  a  turn 
up  and  down  the  room,  as  though  with  difficulty  re- 
taining his  composure.  For  my  part,  I  own,  I  felt 
broken,  carried  out  of  myself.  It  had  been  search- 
ing work,  dislocating  work,  to  lay  bare  my  innermost 
heart  thus.  But  only  so,  as  I  judged,  could  the  men- 
tion of  Alice  Dynevor's  name  be  avoided  between 
us.  It  was  better  to  sacrifice  myself,  if  by  so  doing  I 
could  at  once  spare  her  and  arrive  at  a  clear  under- 
standing. Of  this  I  was  glad.  I  think  the  Master 
was  glad  too;  for,  his  rather  agitated  walk  ended, 
he  stood  beside  me  and  spoke  most  kindly. 

"  Your  secret  is  perfectly  safe  with  me,  Brownlow, 
rest  assured.  I  give  you  my  word  I  will  never  reveal 
it.  You  have  behaved  honourably  and  high-mindedly 
throughout.  Your  conduct  commands  my  respect 
and  admiration, — though  I  could  wish  some  matters 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  279 

had  turned  out  otherwise.  But  now  as  to  this  mar- 
riage— real  or  supposed — of  poor  Hartover's  and 
all  the  ugly  plotting  of  which,  I  fear  with  you,  he  Is 
the  victim.  I  do  not  think  I  can  find  It  In  my  con- 
science to  stand  by,  or  encourage  you  to  stand  by, 
with  folded  hands." 

^'  That  Is  exactly  what  I  was  coming  to,  sir,"  I 
said,  choking  down  alike  my  thanks  and  my  emotion. 
"  If,  as  you  inform  me.  Lord  Longmoor's  health  Is 
so  precarious,  the  poor  dear  boy's  future  must  not 
be  left  to  chance." 

''  No,  no,"  he  answered  warmly.  "  His  foes,  I 
fear,  are  very  literally  of  his  own  household.  If  this 
woman  Is  legally  his  wife,  we,  as  his  friends,  are 
called  upon  to  stand  by  the  marriage  and  on  grounds 
of  public  policy,  make  the  best  of  what,  I  admit, 
strikes  me  as  a  very  bad  business.  If  she  is  not 
legally  his  wife,  if  there  is  any  flaw  In  the  marriage, 
we  must  take  means  to  establish  the  fact  of  that  flaw 
and  set  him  free.  Whether  he  Is  grateful  to  us  for 
our  self-imposed  labours  affects  our  duty  neither  one 
way  nor  the  other  at  this  stage  of  the  proceedings. 
But  should  she  prove  the  unscrupulous  person  I  take 
her  to  be,  he  will  very  certainly  thank  us  In  the  end. 
And  now,  Brownlow,  It  occurs  to  me  the  sooner  we 
move  in  all  this  the  better.  There  Is  no  time  to  be 
lost." 

He  gave  me  reasons  for  his  opinion.  In  which  I 
fully  agreed;  and  we  sat  talking  far  Into  the  night, 
with  the  result  that  within  a  fortnight  I  travelled, 
first  to  Yorkshire,  and  then  up  to  town. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

About  my  Yorkshire  journey  it  is  unnecessary  to  say 
much.  I  saw  Hover  once  more,  stately  as  ever,  but 
lifeless.  The  great  house  shut  up,  its  many  treas- 
ures swathed  in  dust  sheets  and  brown  paper.  When 
it  would  be  opened  again  none  knew.  Probably 
Colonel  Esdaile  would  bring  some  gentlemen  down 
in  August  for  grouse-shooting,  or  for  covert-shoot- 
ing in  October.  He  would  hunt  there  during  the 
winter.  The  Colonel,  always  and  only  the  Colonel, 
as  man  in  possession? 

I  said  as  much  to  Warcop — to  whom  my  visit  was 
made — sitting  before  the  empty  stove  in  that  queer 
sanctum  of  his,  hung  round  with  prints  and  spoils  of 
the  stud-farm  and  the  chase.  Whereupon  he  stuck 
out  his  bull-dog  under  jaw  and  mournfully  shook  his 
big  grizzled  head. 

Yes,  he  answered,  that  was  pretty  well  what  it  all 
came  to.  Would  to  God  it  did  not! — always  and 
only  Colonel  Jack  at  Hover  in  these  days.  And  my 
lord  lay  a-dying,  so  they  said,  at  Bath;  and  my  young 
lord  gave  no  sign.  And  her  ladyship  flitted  in,  like 
some  great  bright-painted  butterfly,  for  a  day  and  a 
night.  Looked  round  the  stables  and  gardens  with 
a  laugh,  hanging  on  the  Colonel's  arm,  and  flitted  off 
again,  as  gay  as  you  please,  to  London  or  Bath,  or 
Old  Nick  knew  where;  while  Colonel  Jack,  with  a 

280 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  281 

face  like  thunder  and  a  temper  like  tinder,  cursed 
the  very  guts  out  of  anyone  unlucky  enough  to  cross 
his  path  for  full  twenty-four  hours  afterwards. 
Colonel  Esdaile  was  a  changed  man,  as  I  gathered; 
his  swaggering  manner  and  jovial  good-humour,  a 
thing  of  the  past,  save  at  rare  intervals  or  when  her 
ladyship  happened  to  be  about. 

All  of  which  was  bad  hearing.  The  more  so  as, 
without  going  all  lengths  with  Braithwaite  in  his  con- 
demnation of  our  hereditary  nobility,  I  believed  then 
— and  believe  firmly  still — that  if  a  great  nobleman, 
or  great  landowner,  is  to  justify  his  position — aye, 
and  his  very  existence — he  must  live  on  his  estate, 
keep  in  close  touch  with,  and  hold  himself  directly 
responsible  for  the  welfare  of,  all  ranks  of  its  popu- 
lation— labourers,  artisans,  rent-payers  great  and 
small,  alike.  The  middle-man,  however  just  or  able 
an  administrator,  introduces,  and  must  always  intro- 
duce, a  cold-blooded,  mechanical  relation  as  between 
landlord  and  tenant,  employer  and  employed.  And, 
now  listening  to  Warcop's  lament,  I  trembled  lest  the 
curse  of  absenteeism — which  during  recent  years  has 
worked  such  havoc  of  class  hatred  and  disaffection 
in  Ireland — should  set  its  evil  mark  upon  this  Eng- 
lish country-side. 

In  this  connection  it  was  inevitable  that  memories 
of  my  former  dreams  and  ambitions  for  Hover 
should  come  back  to  me  with  a  bitter  sense  of  failure 
and  of  regret.  Dreams  and  ambitions  of  so  edu- 
cating and  training  my  dear  pupil  as  to  make  him  an 
ideal  landowner,  an  ideal  nobleman,  to  whom  no 


282  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

corner  of  his  vast  possessions,  the  lives  lived  and 
work  done  there,  would  be  a  matter  of  Indifference; 
but  who  would  accept  and  obey  the  divinely  ordained 
law  of  rulership  and  ownership  which  reminds  us 
every  privilege  carries  with  it  a  corresponding  obli- 
gation, and  that  the  highest  duty  of  him  who  governs 
is  to  serve. 

Where  had  all  those  fair  dreams  and  ambitions 
departed  now?  Were  they  for  ever  undone  and  dis- 
sipated? It  seemed  so,  alas!  Yet  who  could  tell? 
Had  I  not  promised  Nellie,  and  that  in  some  sort 
against  my  dearest  interests,  to  watch  over  Hartover 
to  the  best  of  my  power,  and  care  for  him  still  ?  And 
if  a  poor  faulty  human  creature,  such  as  I,  could  be 
faithful,  how  much  more  God,  his  Maker !  Yes,  I 
would  set  my  hope,  both  for  him  and  for  Hover, 
firmly  there,  black  though  things  looked  at  present. 
For  Almighty  God,  loving  him  infinitely  more  than  I 
— much  though  I  loved  him — would  surely  find 
means  for  his  redemption,  and,  notwithstanding  his 
many  temptations,  still  make  for  him  a  way  of 
escape. 

And  with  that  I  turned  my  mind  resolutely  to  the 
practical  Inquiry  which  had  brought  me  north,  ques- 
tioning Warcop  concerning  the  disappearance  of 
Marsigli  and  the  theft,  with  which  he  stood  charged, 
of  jewels  and  of  plate. 

Warcop's  first  words  in  reply,  I  own,  set  my  heart 
beating. 

"  Best  ask  French  Mamzelle,  sir,"  he  said,  with  a 
snarl.     "  For,  as  sure  as  my  name's  Jesse  Warcop, 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  283 

she'd  the  main  finger  In  that  pie.  Picked  out  t'  fat- 
test o'  the  plums  for  herself,  too,  and  fathered  the 
job  upon  Marslgll  to  rid  herself  of  the  fellow." 

"Torldherself  of  him?" 

**  'Od,  an'  why  not?  So  long  as  ye  were  here  wi' 
us,  sir,  what  she'd  set  her  mind  to  have  was  out  of 
her  reach.  But,  you  safe  gone,  she'd  na  more  stom- 
ach for  my  lord's  Italian  butler,  bless  you — must  fly 
at  higher  game  than  that." 

"LordHartover?" 

"  And  who  else  ?  Eh  !  but  she's  a  canny  one ;  none 
of  your  hot-heads,  rushing  Into  a  thing  afore  they've 
fairly  planned  It.  She'd  her  plan  pat  enough.  Laid 
her  train  or  ever  she  struck  a  match;  waited  till  she 
kenned  It  was  all  over  between  t'  dear  lad  and 
Bralthwalte's  lass.  Had  Marslgll  muzzled,  seeing 
that  to  tell  on  her  was  to  tell  on  himself.  i\nd 
others,  that  should  ha'  shown  her  up,  durstn't  do  It, 
lest  she  opened  her  mouth  and  set  scandal  yelping 
after  them.  So  she'd  a  muzzle  onto  them  too,  and 
could  afford  to  laugh  t'  whole  lot  In  the  face — 
upstairs  as  well  as  down — and  follow  her  own 
fancy." 

He  ruminated,  chewing  viciously  at  the  straw  he 
carried  In  his  mouth. 

"  And,  as  the  talk  goes,  she's  followed  It  to  a 
finish,"  he  added,  "  and  fixed  her  devil  she-kite's 
claws  In  my  young  lord,  poor  dear  lad,  safe  enough. 
Is  the  talk  true,  sir?  " 

I  answered,  sadly,  I  feared  It  was  so;  but  that,  as 
some  method  might  still  possibly  be  found  of  unfix- 


284  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

ing  those  same  kite's  claws,  I  had  come  In  search  of 
any  information  he  could  give. 

"Then  you  mean  to  put  up  a  fight,  sir?  "  he  said, 
his  jaw  hard  and  his  eyes  bright.  "  For  all  your 
colleging  and  your  black  coat,  you're  o'  the  same 
kidney  as  when  ye  rode  t'  little  brown  horse  across 
the  fells  and  saved  t'  pack." 

And  therewith  he  settled  down  to  recount  all  he 
had  puzzled  out,  all  he  believed  and  thought.  In- 
ferential rather  than  circumstantial,  this,  alas!  for 
the  most  part;  yet  to  me  valuable,  from  the  man's 
caution,  honesty,  power  of  close  observation,  shrewd 
intelligence  and  mother-wit.  In  his  opinion  the  theft 
had  been  carried  out  at  Fedore's  instigation,  and 
upon  her  undertaking  to  join  Marsigll  as  soon  as 
it  was  accomplished,  and  fly  with  him  to  his  native 
city  of  Milan.  Having  thus  involved  the  Italian — 
whose  long-standing  passion  for,  and  jealousy  of  her, 
were  matters  of  common  knowledge  among  the  serv- 
ants, Warcop  said — she  evidently  played  him  false, 
although  covering  his  escape  by  putting  the  police  on 
a  wrong  scent.  Where  was  he  now?  In  England, 
Warcop  opined,  probably  hiding  in  London,  still 
hoping  to  induce  Fedore  to  redeem  her  promise. 
Were  the  two  man  and  wife?  Over  that  Warcop 
shook  his  head.  Who  could  say,  save  the  two  them- 
selves? Yet,  if  they  were,  there  must  needs  be  a 
record  of  the  marriage,  which  would  have  taken 
place  during  the  period  of  my  tutorship  at  Hover, 
at  some  time  when  her  ladyship  was  in  Grosvenor 
Square. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  285 

Here,  at  last,  I  had  a  definite  starting-point.  For 
the  church  could  be  found,  the  clergyman  who  per- 
formed the  ceremony  could  be  found,  always  sup- 
posing any  such  ceremony  had  really  taken  place. 

I  returned  to  Cambridge  to  talk  everything  over 
with  the  Master;  and  subsequently  journeyed  up  to 
town,  where,  under  seal  of  the  strictest  secrecy,  I 
placed  matters  in  the  hands  of  Inspector  Lavender, 
of  the  Detective  Police.  He  must  find  the  church, 
the  clergyman — above  all,  must  find  Marsigli. — This 
was  a  desperate  game  to  play.  I  knew  it.  Would 
the  dear  boy  ever  forgive  me  for  interfering  in  his 
affairs  thus?  I  knew  not.  But  I  did  know  it  had  to 
be  risked  both  for  his  fortune  and  his  honour's  sake. 
Further,  was  I  not  bound  by  my  word  solemnly  given 
to  Nellie?  Still  more,  then,  had  it  to  be  done  for  my 
own  oath's  sake. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

And  now  we  were  well  on  into  the  May  term.  The 
noble  elms  towers  of  dense  and  solid  green;  lilac  and 
laburnum  giving  place  to  roses  in  the  Fellows*  Gar- 
den; and  the  river,  a  little  shrunken  by  the  summer 
heat,  slipping  past  smooth  lawns  and  beneath  the 
weeping  willows'  graceful  shade  with  truly  academic 
deliberation  and  repose. 

Never  had  I  enjoyed  my  daily  work  so  much,  or 
met  with  so  hearty  and  intelligent  a  response.  An 
excellent  set  of  men  were  in  college  that  year;  gen- 
tlemanlike, eager  to  learn,  in  some  cases  notably 
clever,  in  almost  all  agreeable  to  deal  with.  My 
popularity — enhanced  by  that  episode  of  the  fire  at 
the  Master's  Lodge — was  great.  Why  should  I  hesi- 
tate to  say  so,  since  thankfulness  rather  than  vanity 
did,  I  can  honestly  affirm,  fill  my  heart?  I  had  ar- 
ranged to  take  a  reading  party  to  North  Wales  dur- 
ing the  long  vacation,  and  to  this  I  looked  forward 
as  a  new  and  interesting  experience.  Halidane, 
moreover,  for  cause  unknown,  had  ceased  from 
troubling  me.  Ever  since  his  return,  at  the  beginning 
of  term,  he  had  worn  a  somewhat  hang-dog  look; 
and,  though  almost  cringingly  civil  when  we  chanced 
to  meet,  appeared,  as  I  thought,  to  shun  rather  than 
seek  my  society.  What  had  happened  to  the  fellow? 
Had  the  change  in  his  demeanour  any  connection 

286 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  287 

with  the  Master's  visit  to  his  "  sainted  patron," 
Lord  Longmoor,  at  Bath  ?  I  did  not  know,  nor  did  I 
greatly  care,  so  long  as  I  continued  to  be  relieved  of 
his  officious  and  unsavoury  attentions. 

And  so,  taking  things  all  round,  it  seemed  to  me, 
just  now,  the  lines  had  after  all  fallen  to  me  in 
pleasant  places.  Temptation  had  been  resisted,  diffi- 
culties overcome,  honour — and  my  conscience — satis- 
fied. If  much  had  been  denied,  yet  much  remained 
— sufficient,  and  more  than  sufficient,  to  make  life  a 
gift,  not  only  good  but  glad — though  after,  perhaps, 
a  somewhat  serious  pattern. 

Then  came  an  afternoon  the  events  of  which  stand 
out  very  forcibly  in  my  memory.  They  marked  a 
turning-point;  a  parting  of  the  ways,  abrupt  as  it  was 
unexpected. 

For,  neglecting  alike  the  attractions  of  the  glorious 
weather  and  of  "  the  boats  " — it  was  during  the  June 
races — I  stayed  in  my  rooms  to  look  through  a  set 
of  mathematical  papers.  Some  pleased  me  by  their 
ability.  Others  amused — or  irritated — me  by  their 
blunders.  Heavens,  what  thick  heads  some  of  those 
youngsters  had !  After  about  an  hour's  work,  lulled 
by  the  stillness  and  the  sunny  warmth — droning  of 
bees  in  the  clematis  below  my  window,  chippering 
cries  and  glancing  flight  of  swallows  back  and  forth 
to  their  nests  under  the  parapet  above — I  laid  aside 
the  papers,  and,  leaning  back  in  my  chair,  sank  into 
a  brown  study. 

The  morning's  post  had  brought  me  a  brief  com- 
munication  from   Lavender,   the   detective.     After 


288  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

weeks  of  silent  pursuit  he  had  reason  to  believe  he 
was  on  Marsigli's  track  at  last.  My  own  sensations 
in  face  of  this  announcement  surprised  me  a  little. 
By  all  rules  of  the  game  I  should  of  course  have  felt 
unalloyed  gratification.  But  did  I  really  feel  that? 
With  a  movement  of  shame,  I  was  obliged  to  con- 
fess I  did  not.  For  a  certain  moral  indolence  had 
overtaken  me.  I  was  established  in  a  routine  from 
which  I  had  no  wish  to  break  away.  My  college 
work,  into  which  I  threw  myself  at  first  mainly  as  a 
refuge  from  haunting  desires  and  disturbing 
thoughts,  had  become  an  end  in  itself.  It  engrossed 
me.  I  found  it  restful — in  that,  while  making  small 
demand  on  my  emotions,  it  gave  scope  for  such  tal- 
ents, whether  intellectual  or  practical,  as  I  possessed. 
I  found  it  exhilarating  to  deal  with  these  young  men, 
in  the  first  flush  of  their  mental  powers,  to — in  some 
measure  at  all  events — form  their  minds,  influence 
their  conduct  and  their  thought.  It  was  delightful, 
moreover,  to  have  time  and  opportunity  for  private 
study;  to  read  books,  and  ever  more  books.  The 
scholar's  life,  the  life  of  the  university,  held  me  as 
never  before.  Hence  this  obtrusion  of  Lavender, 
hunter  of  crime  and  of  criminals,  this  obtrusion  of 
wretched  Marsigli,  the  absconding  Italian  butler, 
were,  to  be  honest,  displeasing  rather  than  welcome. 
I  cried  off  further  demands  upon  my  energies  in  the 
direction  of  conflict  and  adventure.  Leave  the  stu- 
dent to  his  library,  the  teacher  to  his  lecture-room, 
unvexed  by  the  passions  and  tumult  of  the  world 
without. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  289 

In  fastidious  repulsion,  In  something,  Heaven  for- 
give me,  approaching  disgust,  I  turned  away  from 
both  thief  and  thief-catcher,  all  they  were  and  all 
they  stood  for,  as  beneath  my  notice,  common  and 
unclean.  Almost  angrily  I  prayed  to  be  let  alone,  let 
be.  Prayed  no  fresh  exertion  might  be  required  of 
me;  but  that  I  might  pursue  my  course,  as  a  com- 
fortable, well-read,  well-fed  Cambridge  don,  In 
security  and  peace. 

And,  mercifully,  my  lazy  prayer  was  not  heard, 
not  answered;  or,  more  truly,  was  both  heard  and 
answered,  though  In  a  manner  conspicuously  the 
reverse  of  my  intention  In  offering  It. 

For,  as  I  mused  thus,  the  calm  of  the  summer 
afternoon  was  disturbed  by  a  sudden  loud  knocking 
at  my  door.  The  door  was  flung  open.  On  the 
threshold  a  man  stood.  No  learned  brother  fellow, 
no  ordinary  gownsman;  but,  with  his  pride  of  bear- 
ing, his  air  of  fashion,  the  finest  young  fine  gentleman 
I  had  ever  seen — in  long  drab  driving  coat,  smartly 
outstanding  from  the  waist,  and  white  top  hat  with 
rakish  up-curled  brim. 

For  an  Instant  I  gazed  In  stupid  amazement. 
Then,  as  the  door  closed  behind  him  and  he  came 
from  out  the  shadow,  I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  ran 
forward,  with  a  cry.  And,  almost  before  I  knew 
what  was  happening,  his  two  hands  gripped  my 
shoulders,  and  he  backed  me  into  the  full  light  of 
the  window,  holding  me  away  from  him  at  arms' 
length  and  looking  down  into  my  face.  He  was  a 
good  half  head  taller  than  I. 


290  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  Dearest  Brownlow — my  dear  old  man,  m}'^  dear 
old  man,"  he  repeated,  and  his  grip  tightened  while 
his  voice  was  tender  as  a  girl's. 

Then,  while  I  stammered  in  my  excitement  and 
surprise,  he  gave  a  naughty  little  laugh. 

"  Oh !  I  am  no  ghost,"  he  said.  "  You  needn't  be 
afraid.  I'm  very  solid  flesh  and  blood;  worse  luck 
for  you,  perhaps,  old  man.  Gad,  but  it's  good, 
though,  to  see  you  once  again." 

He  threw  down  his  hat  among  the  papers  on  the 
table,  tossed  his  gloves  into  it,  and  drew  me  on  to 
the  window-seat  beside  him. 

Already  the  spell  began  to  work,  the  spell  of  his 
extraordinary  personal  charm.  Already  he  capti- 
vated me,  firing  my  somewhat  sluggish  imagination. 
Already  I  asked  nothing  better  than  to  devote  myself 
to  him,  spend  myself  for  him,  stamp  out  the  evil  and 
nourish  the  good  in  him,  at  whatever  loss  or  disad- 
vantage to  myself. 

I  inquired  what  had  brought  him  to  Cambridge. 

"  I  am  in  trouble,  Brownlow,"  he  answered  sim- 
ply, while  his  face  hardened.  "  It's  an  ugly  sort  of 
trouble,  which  I  have  not  the  pluck  to  meet  single- 
handed.  I  cannot  see  my  way  through  or  out  of  it. 
I  tell  you,  it  was  beginning  to  make  me  feel  rather 
desperate.  And  I  remembered  yourl  wisdom  of 
old  " 

He  smiled  at  me,  patting  my  knee. 

''  So,  as  I  do  not  want  to  take  to  drink — which 
last  night  seemed  the  only  alternative — I  took  the 
road  this  morning  instead,  and  came  to  look  for  you. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  291 

Perhaps  it  is  a  rather  presumptuous  proceeding  on 
my  part.  I  have  no  claim  on  you,  for  I  have  been 
neglectful  and  selfish.  I  know  that  well  enough — 
not  by  any  means  a  model  pupil,  dear  old  man, 
not  any  great  credit  to  you.      But  you  cared  for 


me  once." 


Cared  for  him?    God  was  my  witness  that  I  did! 

"  And,  as  I  tell  you,  I  have  not  courage  to  meet 
this  trouble  alone.  It  raises  a  devil  suspicion  and 
anger  in  me.  I  am  afraid  of  being  unjust,  of  losing 
my  head  and  doing  some  wild  thing  I  shall  regret 
for  the  rest  of  my  life.  But  we  need  not  go  into  all 
this  just  yet,  and  spoil  our  first  half-hour  together. 
It  will  keep." 

And  he  looked  away,  avoiding  my  eyes  with  a  cer- 
tain shyness,  as  I  fancied;  glanced  round  the  room, 
at  its  sober  colouring,  solid  furniture,  ranges  of 
book-shelves  and  many  books;  glanced  through  the 
window  at  the  fine  trees,  the  bright  garden,  and  quiet 
river  glistening  in  the  still  June  sunlight. 

"  Gad !  but  what  a  delightful  place !  "  he  said. 
"  I  am  glad  to  know  where  you  live,  Brownlow, 
and  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  envy  you,  I  think. 
The  wheels  must  run  very  smooth." 

I  thought  of  Nellie,  of  my  home-coming  from 
Westrea.  Verily,  less  smooth  than  he  imagined — 
sometimes. 

"  Why,  why  did  not  they  let  me  come  here,"  he 
broke  out — "  as  I  implored  them  to,  after  the  row 
about — about — at  Hover,  I  mean,  when  you  left  me. 
I  would  have   given   anything  to   come   up   to  the 


292  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

university  then,  and  work,  and  have  you  with  me 
still.  Ah  !  how  different  everything  would  be  now  1 
But  my  father  refused  to  listen.  The  plan  did  not 
suit  some  people's  book,  I  suppose;  and  they  worked 
upon  him,  making  him  hopelessly  obstinate.  Noth- 
ing would  do,  but  into  the  Guards  I  must  go.  I 
begged  for  if  only  a  year  with  you  here,  at  Cam- 
bridge, first.  But  not  a  bit  of  it.  Out  they  pitched 
me,  neck  and  crop,  into  the  London  whirlpool,  to 
sink  or  swim  as  I  could — sink  for  choice,  I  fancy,  as 
far  as  they  were  concerned." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  they  are  better  satisfied  at  the 
result  than  I  am,"  he  added,  with  an  oath.  "  But 
what  is  done  Is  done — and,  curse  it,  there  is  no  going 
back.  As  you  make  your  bed — or  as  others  make  it 
for  you — so  must  you  He  on  it." 

Sad  words  from  a  boy  of  barely  one-and-twenty, 
as  I  thought.  Surely  punishment  awaited  those, 
somewhere  and  somewhen,  who  had  taught  him  so 
harsh  a  lesson,  and  taught  it  him  so  young. 

Meanwhile,  my  first  surprise  and  excitement  over, 
I  watched  Hartover  carefully,  fearing  to  see  In  him 
signs  of  past  dissipation  and  excess.  But  his  beauty 
was  as  great  as  ever.  His  flesh  firm,  moreover,  his 
eyes  and  skin  clear.  He  had  matured  rather  than 
altered,  grown  considerably  taller  and  filled-out, 
though  his  figure  remained  gracefully  alert  and 
slight.  Two  points  only  did  I  observe  which  I  did 
not  quite  like — namely  an  aspect  of  anxiety  and  care 
upon  the  brow,  and  little  bitter  lines  at  the  corners 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  293 

of  the  handsome  mouth,  giving  a  singular  arrogance 
to  his  expression  when  the  face  was  in  repose. 

We  talked  for  a  while  of  indifferent  matters,  and 
he  asked  me  to  walk  with  him  to  the  Bull  Hotel, 
where  he  had  left  the  post-chaise  in  which  he  drove 
down  from  town,  and  where  he  invited  me  to  dine 
with  him  and  stay  the  night  as  his  guest. 

"  Give  me  what  time  you  can,  Brownlow,"  he  said. 
*'  Leave  all  the  good  boys,  the  white  sheep  of  your 
numerous  flock,  to  take  care  of  themselves  for  once; 
and  look  after  the  bad  boy,  the  black  sheep — the 
scapegoat,  rather.  For,  upon  my  soul,  it  amounts 
to  that.  The  sins  of  others  are  loaded  on  to  my 
unhappy  head,  I  promise  you,  with  a  vengeance." 

I  could  not  but  be  aware  of  curious  and  admiring 
glances,  as  I  walked  up  King's  Parade  in  his  com- 
pany. Reflected  glory  covered  me.  While  he,  roy- 
ally careless  of  the  observation  he  excited,  was  quick 
to  note  the  grace  of  the  different  college  buildings, 
the  effects  of  light  and  colour,  to  ask  a  hundred  per- 
tinent questions,  make  a  hundred  pertinent  remarks 
on  all  which  caught  his  eye.  What  a  delightful 
mind  he  had,  open  both  to  poetic  and  humorous  im- 
pressions; instinctively  using  the  right  word,  more- 
over, and  striking  out  the  happy  phrase  when  it 
suited  him  to  lay  aside  his  slang. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

We  dined  In  a  private  room  on  the  first  floor,  which 
overlooked  the  street.  Hartover  proved  a  brilliant 
host.  Once  or  twice,  after  anecdotes  a  trifle  too 
highly  salted  for  my  white  tie  and  clerical  coat,  he 
checked  himself  with  a  pretty  air  of  penitence,  ex- 
pressing a  mischievous  hope  I  "  wasn't  shocked." 
Shocked  I  was  not,  being  no  puritan ;  but  somewhat 
grieved,  I  must  admit,  his  wit  should  take  so  gross 
a  turn.  Yet  what  wonder?  The  guard-room  is 
hardly  mealy-mouthed,  I  supposed;  neither,  I  could 
imagine,  was  French  Mademoiselle — in  Intimacy. 
To  her,  by  the  way,  I  observed,  Hartover  made  so 
far  no  smallest  allusion. 

But  he  spoke  of  Braithwaite,  asking,  with  an  Indif- 
ference too  studied  to  carry  conviction,  if  my  friend- 
ship still  continued  with  the  father  and  daughter, 
and — "were  they  well?"  I  answered  both  ques- 
tions briefly  in  the  aflirmatlve;  and  there,  to  my 
relief,  the  subject  dropped. 

Towards  the  end  of  dinner  his  high  spirits,  which, 
entertaining  though  he  had  been,  struck  me  all  along 
as  slightly  forced,  deserted  him,  and  he  became  silent 
and  preoccupied.  Were  we  approaching  disclosure 
of  the  trouble  which,  as  he  asserted,  brought  him 
here  hot-foot,  to  Cambridge  and  to  me?  How 
gladly  would  I  have  made  the  way  of  confession  easy 

294 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  295 

for  him !  But  I  had  sense  to  know  I  must  be  passive 
In  the  matter.  Whatever  confidence  he  gave  must 
be  given  spontaneously.  To  question  him,  however 
circumspectly,  would  be  to  put  him  off  by  arousing 
his  sensitive  pride. 

As  the  waiter  brought  In  coffee  and  lights,  Hart- 
over  rose,  swung  out  onto  the  balcony,  and,  leaning 
his  elbows  on  the  high  Iron  rail  of  It,  stood  gazing 
down  Into  the  street.  The  June  twilight  lingered, 
disputing  the  feeble  glimmer  of  the  street  lamps. 
Roofs,  gables,  pinnacles  and  towers  showed  velvet 
black  against  the  sweet  translucence  of  an  almost 
colourless  sky.  Footsteps,  voices,  a  grind  of  wheels 
and  cloppet,  cloppet,  of  horse-hoofs  over  the  stones; 
the  scream  of  swifts  In  the  buoyant  rush  of  their 
evening  flight,  and  the  tang  of  a  chapel  bell,  a  single 
reiterated  note.  Some  five  minutes  must  have 
elapsed  while  these  varied  sounds  reached  me  from 
without.  Then  Hartover  raised  his  head,  calling 
imperatively  over  his  shoulder — 

"  Brownlow,  Brownlow,  where  are  you?  I  want 
you.     Come  here." 

Evidently  he  had  reached  some  crisis  of  purpose 
or  of  feeling.  I  w^ent  out  Into  the  warm  evening  air 
and  stood  beside  him.  His  head  was  lowered,  and 
again  he  gazed  down  into  the  street. 

"  I  am  sorry,  I  am  ashamed,  Brownlow,"  he  said, 
an  odd  thickness  in  his  speech,  "  but  I  am  afraid  I 
have  come  here  to-day  and  disturbed  you  on  false 
pretences.  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  talk 
to  you  about  this  matter  after  all." 


296  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

He  paused  as  asking  an  answer. 

"  Very  well,"  I  replied.  "  I,  at  all  events,  have 
gained  by  your  coming,  in  that  I  have  had  the  joy 
of  seeing  you  again.  Leave  the  rest  if  you  think  fit. 
You  alone  can  know  what  you  wish — know  what 
appears  to  you  right  under  the  circumstances.  You 
must  use  your  own  judgment." 

"Ah!  there  you  have  me,"  he  returned  sharply. 
"  I  don't  know  what  I  wish.  I  am  uncertain  what  is 
right.  I  distrust  my  own  judgment.  In  short  I'm 
cornered,  Brownlow,  miserably,  detestably  cor- 
nered. To  speak  looks  to  me,  at  this  moment,  like 
an  act  of  unpardonable  treachery.  Yet,  if  I  don't 
speak,  I  may  be  rushed  before  many  days  are  out, 
by  my  own  mad  anger,  into  something  even  worse 
than  treachery.    Do  you  understand?  " 

In  a  sense  I  did  understand,  by  intuition  born  of 
affection  and  sympathy.  But,  unless  I  was  greatly 
mistaken  in  my  reading  of  him,  all  this  was  merely 
preliminary.  If  I  waited,  I  should  understand^  or 
at  least  hear,  the  whole.  And  that  it  would  be  well 
for  him  I  should  hear  the  whole  I  had — God  helping 
me — no  shadow  of  doubt. 

Slowly  the  twilight  expired,  while  the  blue  of  the 
night  sky,  opaque,  profound,  travelled  stealthily, 
almost  imperceptibly,  downward  from  the  zenith. 
The  joyous  scream  of  the  swifts  ceased,  and  the  bell 
tanged  irregularly,  nearing  its  finish.  As  it  did  so, 
a  little  group  of  gownsmen,  gathered  upon  the  pave- 
ment immediately  below,  seized  by  an  irresponsible 
spirit  of  frolic — as  most  young  animals  are  prone  to 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  297 

be  at  dusk — started  laughing  and  skylarking,  their 
black  raiment  fluttering,  batlike,  as  they  skirmished 
across  the  greyness  of  the  street. 

Whether  the  sudden  outcry  jarred  his  already 
strained  nerves,  or  whether  the  careless  whole- 
hearted fun  and  laughter  of  these  men,  so  little 
younger  than  himself,  offered  too  mordant  a  contrast 
to  his  own  troubled  state,  Hartover  flung  in  from 
the  balcony  with  an  oath,  hesitated  for  an  Instant, 
then  blew  out  the  lights  and  threw  himself  Into  an 
armchair. 

"  No,  I'm  not  strong  enough  to  hold  my  tongue. 
Wretched  weakling  that  I  am,"  he  groaned,  "  I  must 
blab.    And  concerning  a  w^oman  too." 

He  extended  his  hand,  through  the  semi-darkness, 
motioning  me  to  a  chair. 

*'  Sit  there,  please,"  he  said.  "  My  God,  when  it 
comes  to  the  point  how  I  despise  myself,  Brownlow! 
It's — it's  about  her,  about  Fedore." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  as  calmly  as  I  could,  for  his 
tone  moved  me  deeply.  And  the  subject,  too!  I 
trembled,  penetrated  alike  by  fear  and  hope  of  what 
I  should  hear  next. 

"  For  the  last  month  or  six  weeks  something's 
been  wrong — some  mystery  on  hand  I  cannot 
fathom.  Somebody  who  has,  or  Imagines  they  have, 
a  hold  over  her  is  pressing  her  for  money,  as  far  as 
I  can  make  out.  I  believe — oh !  it  is  an  abominable 
suspicion,  but  I  cannot  rid  my  mind  of  It — this  per- 
son visits  the  house  when  she  is  sure  I  shall  be  away. 
I  have  no  idea  who,  Brownlow;  but  someone  belong- 


298  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY, 

ing  to  her  old  life,  before  I  married  her.  Each  time 
lately  that  I  have  been  with  her  she  has  insisted  upon 
my  telling  her  exactly  when  I  intend  to  come  again. 
Nothing  will  pacify  her  but  that  I  must  fix  a  date 
and  hour.  Her  persistence  has  vexed  me  once  or 
twice.  We  nearly  quarrelled  over  it.  She  says  " — 
he  choked  a  little — "  it  is  only  that  she  may  be  able 
to  put  on  a  pretty  gown,  prepare  a  nice  little  dinner, 
and  have  everything  smart  and  charming  for  me. 
But  I  don't  believe  that  is  her  sole  reason — perhaps 
I  am  just  a  jealous  brute — but  I  can't.  I  wish  to 
Heaven  I  could!  " 

He  waited,  fighting  down  his  emotion. 

"  Yesterday  matters  came  to  a  head.  I  went 
with  " — he  mentioned  the  names  of  several  young 
men,  well  known,  not  to  say  notorious,  in  fashionable 

and  sporting  circles — "  to  a  race  meeting  at \    I 

meant  to  stop  the  week.  But  racing  bores  me  after  a 
little  while,  and  the  play  was  too  high  at  night.  Posi- 
tively I  couldn't  afford  it.  So  I  cut  my  stay  short, 
went  back  to  town,  and  to  Chelsea.  I  can't  deny  I 
have  been  living  rather  hard,  and  I  was  cross  with 
myself — I  really  have  kept  awfully  straight  for  the 
last  six  months,  Brownlow — and  a  bit  seedy  and  out 
of  sorts." 

Again  he  waited. 

"  I  let  myself  in  at  the  garden  door,  and  then  at 
the  house-door — as  a  matter  of  course.  I  had  no 
intention  of  jumping  any  surprise  on  her.  I  was  not 
thinking  about  my  suspicions  or  any  little  tiff  we  had 
had.     I  only  wanted  to  get  to  her,  Brownlow,  be- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  299 

cause  I  knew  she'd  put  me  into  good  conceit  with 
myself — tease  and  pet  and  amuse  me,  you  know — 
she  can  be  devilish  amusing  when  she  likes " 

His  voice  broke. 

''  Yes,"  I  said  quietly,  "  yes " 

My  heart  bled  for  him;  but  I  must  be  cautious  and 
husband  my  resources.  The  time  to  speak  would 
surely  come,  but  it  was  not  yet. 

"  I  found  the  house  empty,"  he  went  on  pres- 
ently, recovering  himself,  "  windows  bolted  and 
doors  locked.  I  called  her,  and  looked  for  her  up- 
stairs and  down;  but  neither  she  nor  the  maid  was  at 
home.  I  was  disappointed,  of  course;  but  I  would 
not  let  myself  be  angry.  I  had  told  her  I  should  be 
away  till  the  end  of  the  week,  so  she  had  a  perfect 
right  to  go  out  if  she  wanted  to.  Finally  I  went 
into  the  drawing-room,  meaning  to  wait  there  till  she 
came  in.  But,  somehow,  I  received  a  new  impression 
of  the  house.  It  struck  me  as  grubby,  fusty,  low- 
class.  I  wondered  why  I  had  never  observed  this 
before,  or  whether  it  was  merely  the  effect  of  my 
disappointment  at  her  absence.  There  were  scraps 
of  a  torn-up  letter  on  the  carpet,  for  one  thing,  which 
I  greatly  disliked.  I  began  to  pick  them  up,  and 
casually — I  did  not  attempt  to  read  it  of  course — I 
remarked  the  writing  was  in  French.  Then  I 
thought  I  would  smoke,  to  pass  the  time  until  she 
came  back.  I  wanted  something  with  which  to  cut 
off  the  end  of  my  cigar,  but  found  I  had  brought  no 
penknife,  so  I  rummaged  in  her  little  work  table  for 
a  pair  of  scissors.     I  could  not  find  any  in  the  top 


300  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

work-box  part,  and  tried  to  pull  out  the  square  silk- 
covered  drawer  arrangement  underneath,  as  I  re- 
membered often  seeing  her  put  her  scissors  away  in 
it  with  her  work.  But  the  beastly  thing  was  locked 
or  jammed.  Like  a  fool,  I  lost  my  temper  over  it, 
and  dragged  and  poked  till  the  catch  gave  and  the 
drawer  flew  open.  And — and,  Brownlow,  inside  I 
saw  a  couple  of  white  leather  jewel-cases — oh!  the 
whole  thing  was  so  incredible,  such  a  profanation — 
it  made  me  sick — stamped  with  a  monogram  and 
coronet.  I  recognised  them  at  once.  They  be- 
longed to  my  mother — own  mother  I  mean " 

His  tone  grew  fierce. 

"  Not  Her  Magnificence.  Her  hands  have  never 
touched,  and  touching  defiled  them,  I  am  thankful  to 
think. — These  jewels  would  come  to  me,  in  the  ordi- 
nary course  of  events,  with  certain  other  possessions 
of  my  mother's,  at  my  majority.  Meanwhile  they 
have  always  been  kept  in  the  strong-room  at  Hover. 
And,  Brownlow — this  is  the  point  of  the  whole  hate- 
ful business — they  were  among  the  valuables  that 
scoundrel,  Marsigli — you  remember  him,  my  step- 
mother's beloved  Italian  butler? — made  off  with  last 
year,  and  which  by  some  to  my  mind  incomprehensi- 
ble stupidity  on  the  part  of  the  police — I  have  often 
talked  it  over  with  Fedore — have  never  yet  been 
traced." 

"  Were  the  contents  of  the  cases  intact?  "  I  asked. 

He  hesitated. 

"  No — ,"  he  said  at  last,  unwillingly,  almost  I 
thought  despairingly — "  and  that  makes  it  all  the 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  301 

more  Intolerable.  The  cases  were  empty;  and  from 
the  position  in  which  I  found  them  it  seemed  to  me 
they  had  been  thrown  into  the  drawer  just  anyhow, 
by  a  person  in  a  frantic  hurry — too  great  a  hurry  to 
make  sure  the  drawer  was  actually  locked.  For,  if 
It  had  been  properly  locked,  it  would  not  have  given 
way  so  easily  when  I  tried  to  force  It.  These  signs 
of  haste  increased  my  fears,  Brownlow.  For  think," 
he  cried  with  sudden  passion,  "  only  think  what  it 
all  points  to,  what  It  may  all  mean!  How  could 
these  precious  things  of  my  mother's  have  found 
their  way  into  the  drawer  of  Fedore's  work  table — 
unless?  The  conjunction  of  Ideas  would  be  posi- 
tively grotesque  if — if  It  were  not  so  damnable. — 
Does  not  it  occur  to  you  what  horrible  possibilities 
are  opened  out?  " 

It  did.  I  gauged  those  possibilities  far  more 
clearly  than  he.  Indeed,  remembering  my  conversa- 
tion with  Warcop  In  the  stables  at  Hover  but  a  few 
weeks  back.  For  was  not  Warcop's  theory  In  pro- 
cess of  being  proven  up  to  the  hilt?  But  how  could 
I  speak  of  either  theory  or  proof  to  Hartover,  dis- 
tracted and  tortured  as  he  was?  To  do  so  would 
be  Incomparably  cruel.  No,  I  must  play  a  waiting 
game  still.  The  truth — or,  to  be  exact,  that  which 
I  firmly  and  Increasingly  believed  to  be  the  truth — 
must  reach  him  by  degrees,  lest  he  should  be  driven 
into  recklessness  or  violence.  I  would  temporise, 
try  to  find  excuses  even,  so  as  to  retard  rather  than 
hasten  the  shock  of  that  most  ugly  disclosure. 

**  All  which  you  tell  me  is  very  strange  and  per- 


302  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

plexing,"  I  said.  "'  But  do  not  let  us  be  hurried  Into 
rash  and  possibly  unjust  conclusions.  There  may 
be  some  explanation  which  will  put  a  very  different 
complexion  upon  affairs.  Have  you  asked  for 
any?" 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  It  was  too  soon  to  think  of 
that.  I  could  not  meet  her,  could  not  trust  myself 
to  see  or  speak  to  her  then.  My  one  impulse  was  to 
get  away,  to  get  out  of  the  house  in  which,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  I  had  been  so  shamelessly  betrayed 
and  tricked.  I  was  half  mad  with  rage  and  grief. 
For — ah!  don't  you  understand,  Brownlow? — I  do 
love  her.  Not  as  I  loved  Nellie  Braithwaite.  That 
was  unique — a  love  more  of  the  soul  than  the  senses. 
Pure  and  clean  as  a  wind  of  morning,  blowing 
straight  out  of  Paradise.  The  love  of  my  youth,  of 
— in  a  way — my  virginity;  such  as  can  never  come 
twice  in  my  or  any  man's  life." 

He  stopped,  a  sob  in  his  throat.  But  not  for 
long.  The  floodgates  were  open — all  the  proud, 
wayward,  undisciplined,  sensitive  nature  in  revolt. 

"  My  love  for  Fedore  is  different — no  morning 
wind  from  Eden  about  that.  How  should  there  be? 
In  the  Interval  I  had  very  effectually  parted  com- 
pany with  all  claims  to  the  angelic  state.  But  think 
— she  nursed  me,  dragged  me  back  from  the  very 
mouth  of  hell;  protected  me  from  those  who  sought 
to  ruin  me ;  gave  herself  to  me ;  made  a  home  for  me, 
too,  of  a  sort — oh!  that  poor,  poor,  hateful  little 
Chelsea  house ! — coaxed  me,  flirted  with  me,  kept 
me  from  gambling  and  from  drink.    How  could  I 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  303 

do  otherwise  than  marry  her,  and  love  her,  out  of 
the  merest  decency  of  ordinary  gratitude?  I  owe 
her  so  much And  now '' 

Here  Hartover  gave  way  completely.  I  felt 
rather  than  saw  him — there  was  no  light  in  the  room 
save  that  thrown  upward  from  the  lamps  in  the 
street — fling  himself  sideways  in  the  chair,  crushing 
his  face  down  upon  the  arm  of  it  in  a  paroxysm  of 
weeping. 

Only  a  woman  should  look  on  a  man's  tears,  since 
the  motherhood  resident  in  every  woman — whether 
potential  or  as  an  accomplished  act — has  power  to 
staunch  those  tears  without  humiliation  and  offence. 
To  his  fellow-man  the  sight  is  disabling;  painful  or 
unseemly  according  to  individual  quality,  but,  in 
either  case,  excluding  all  possibility  of  approach. 

I  rose,  went  over  to  the  window,  and  waited  there. 
The  boy  should  have  his  cry  out,  unhindered  by  my 
neighbourhood,  since  I  knew  he  was  beyond  my 
clumsy  male  capacity  of  consolation.  Later,  when 
he  came  to  himself,  he  would  understand  I  had  with- 
drawn not  through  callousness,  but  through  rever- 
ence. Meanwhile,  what  a  position  and  what  a  pros- 
pect! My  heart  sank.  How,  in  Heaven's  name, 
could  he  be  drawn  up  out  of  this  pit  he  had  digged 
for  himself?  And  he  loved  Nellie  still.  And,  what- 
ever his  faults,  whatever  his  weaknesses — vices  even 
— his  beauty  and  charm  remained,  beguiling,  com- 
pelling, as  ever.  What  woman  could  resist  him? 
The  thought  gave  me  a  pang.  I  put  it  from  me 
sternly.    Self,  and  again  self — would  self  never  die  ? 


304  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

Even  in  this  hour  of  my  dear  boy's  agony,  as  he  lay 
sobbing  his  hot  young  heart  out  within  half  a  dozen 
paces  of  me,  must  I  think  of  myself  and  of  my  pri- 
vate sorrow? 

I  looked  up  into  the  vast  serenity  of  the  star- 
gemmed  sky  above  the  black  irregular  outline  of  the 
buildings  opposite,  and  renewed  my  vow  to  Nellie — 
remembering  no  greater  love  hath  any  man  than 
this,  that  he  lay  down  his  life — life  of  the  body,  or 
far  dearer  life  of  emotions,  the  affections — for  his 
friend. 

And  presently,  as  I  still  mused,  I  became  aware 
of  a  movement  in  the  room  and  of  Hartover  close 
beside  me,  his  right  arm  cast  about  my  neck. 

"  Dear  old  man,  dear  old  man,"  he  said  hoarsely, 
yet  very  gently,  "  forgive  me.  I  have  felt  for  these 
past  twenty-four  hours  as  though  the  last  foothold 
had  gone,  the  last  foothold  between  me  and  perdi- 
tion. But  it  isn't  so — you  are  left.  Stay  by  me, 
Brownlow.  See  me  through.  Before  God,  I  want 
to  do  right.  Your  worthless  pupil  wants  for  once 
to  be  a  credit  to  you.  But  I  cannot  stand  alone.  I 
am  afraid  of  myself.  I  distrust  my  own  nature.  If 
I  go  to  her — to  Fedore — with  those  empty  jewel 
boxes  of  my  mother's  in  my  hand  and  she  lies  to  me, 
I  shall  want  to  kill  her.  And  if  she  tells  me  what  I 
can't  but  believe  is  the  truth,  I  shall  want  to  blow  my 
own  brains  out.  For  she  has  been  very  much  to  me. 
She  is  my  wife — and  what  can  the  future  hold  for 
either  of  us  but  estrangement,  misery  and  dis- 
grace? " 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  305 

He  waited,  steadied  his  voice,  and  then — 

"  I  know  it  is  no  small  thing  I  ask  of  you ;  but 
will  you  come  back  to  town  with  me  to-morrow? 
And  will  you  see  her  first,  and  so  give  me  time  to 
get  myself  in  hand  and  decide  what  is  to  be  done, 
before  she  and  I  meet?  Will  you  stand  between  me 
and  the  devils  of  revenge  and  despair  who  tempt 
me  ?  Will  you  do  this  because — barring  you.  Brown- 
low — I  have  nothing,  no  one,  left?" 

Needless  to  set  down  here  what  I  answered.  He 
should  have  his  way.  How,  in  God's  name,  could  I 
refuse  him? 

Then,  as  on  that  first  night  of  my  arrival  at  Hover 
long  ago,  I  got  him  away  to  bed.  Sat  by  him  till  he 
slept — at  first  restlessly,  feverishly,  murmuring  to 
himself;  and  once — it  cut  me  to  the  quick — calling 
Fedore  by  name,  as  one  who  calls  for  help  In  limit- 
less distress. 

The  brief  summer  night  was  over  and  the  dawn 
breaking  before  I  felt  free  to  leave  him,  seek  my 
room,  and  take  some  much-needed  rest. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

How  many  in  every  age  have  craved  to  read  the 
future,  to  uncover  the  secrets  of  the  coming  years; 
and  to  that  end  have  pinned  a  foohsh  faith  upon  the 
words  of  fortune-tellers,  sooth-sayers  and  such  like 
blind  leaders  of  the  blind.  For  my  part,  owing 
more  to  a  sluggish  quality  in  my  blood,  probably, 
than  to  any  special  wisdom  or  strength  of  mind,  I 
have  always  felt  thankful — since  I  became  capable 
of  reasoned  thought — the  future  was  a  sealed  book 
to  me,  or  rather  a  book  of  which  it  is  ordained  I 
shall  turn  but  one  page  at  a  time.  To  skip,  to  look 
on,  to  take  a  glance  at  the  end,  would  be,  in  my  case 
anyhow,  to  paralyse  will  and  action  by  excess  of 
hope  or  dread.  No;  depend  on  it,  that  is  a  merciful 
dispensation  which  condemns  us  to  make  haste  slowly 
in  deciphering  the  story  of  our  lives,  learning  here 
a  little  and  there  a  little,  precept  upon  precept  and 
line  upon  line.  Unquestionably  had  second-sight 
been  given  me  as  to  much  which  lay  ahead,  on  the 
glorious  June  mid-day  when  I  started  with  Hart- 
over  up  to  town,  I  should  have  been  utterly  unnerved 
by  the  prospect  of  the  stern  doings  I  was  to  witness; 
and  so  have  proved  but  a  pitiable  broken  reed  on 
which  for  him  to  lean. 

I  rose  early,  though  still  tired;  and,  somewhat  re- 
freshed by  a  cold  bath,  dressed  and  made  inquiries 

306 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  307 

regarding  Hartover.  Finding  he  still  slept,  I  left  a 
message  for  him  and  went  out. 

I  have  observed  that,  in  fatigue,  the  mind  is  pecul- 
iarly responsive  to  outside  influences.  It  was  so 
with  me,  as  I  walked  along  the  familiar  streets  in 
the  radiant  morning  sunlight.  Never  had  the  in- 
herent poetry  of  Cambridge,  its  dignity  and  repose, 
appealed  to  me  more  forcibly.  My  filial  affection 
went  out  to  this  place  which  had  sheltered  my  youth 
and  inexperience,  nourished  my  Intellect,  given  me 
the  means  of  livelihood,  given  me,  also,  many 
friends — went  out  to  its  traditions,  to  its  continuity 
of  high  endeavour  through  centuries  of  scholarship, 
of  religious  and  of  scientific  thought.  What  a  roll 
of  honour,  what  a  galaxy  of  famous  and  venerable 
names,  it  could  show! 

But  I  had  no  time  to  linger,  to-day  of  all  days, 
over  meditations  such  as  these.  Not  past  splendours 
but  very  present  anxieties  claimed  me.  I  hastened 
my  steps,  and  passed  in  under  the  fine  Tudor  gate- 
way of  my  own  college  just  as  the  men — "  a  numer- 
ous throng  arrayed  in  white  " — poured  out  from 
chapel,  into  the  sunshine  and  shadow,  the  green  and 
grey  of  the  big  quadrangle. 

My  object  was  to  obtain  speech  of  the  Master; 
and  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  catch  him  as  he  was 
entering  the  Lodge.  I  begged  for  ten  minutes'  talk 
with  him  while  he  ate  his  breakfast — a  request  he 
granted  readily,  being  curious,  as  I  fancied,  to  learn 
my  errand  and,  since  I  had  not  kept  my  chapel, 
whence  I  came. 


3o8  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

I  satisfied  him  on  both  points,  telling  him  as  much 
as  I  deemed  expedient  about  Hartover's  unexpected 
descent  upon  me — ^to  all  of  which  he  listened  with 
genuine  interest  and  concern. 

"  And  now,  sir,"  I  said,  in  conclusion,  "  the  ques- 
tion arises  as  to  whether  I  can  be  spared  from  my 
college  duties  until  this  painful  business  is  placed 
upon,  what  at  all  events  approaches,  a  reasonable 
and  workable  footing?  " 

"  Which  signifies,  being  interpreted — am  I  pre- 
pared to  sanction  your  doing  that  which  you  fully 
intend  to  do  whether  I  sanction  it  or  not?  Eh, 
Brownlow?  " 

I  acquiesced  smiling,  relieved  to  find  him  in  so 
sympathetic  a  humour. 

"Very  well,  then;  so  be  it,"  he  said.  "Having 
put  your  hand  to  this  particular  plough — at  no  small 
personal  cost  to  yourself,  quixotic  fellow  that  you 
are — you  are  resolved  not  to  look  back;  and  I  am 
the  last  man  to  invite  you  to  do  so.  On  the  con- 
trary, go  on  with  your  ploughing  and  drive  a 
straight  furrow.  Only  provide,  to  the  best  of  your 
ability,  against  friction  and  disappointment  here. 
Your  absence  will  necessarily  create  some.  Both  I 
and  others  shall  miss  you.  You  must  pay — or  rather 
we,  I  suppose,  must  pay — the  price  of  your  popu- 
larity." 

And  he  looked  at  me  very  kindly,  while  I  red- 
dened at  the  implied  praise. 

"  See  the  amount  of  friction  be  as  small  as  possi- 
ble," he  went  on.     "And  now,   as  to  this  erratic 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  309 

young  nobleman,  Lord  Hartover — whose  affairs  ap- 
pear to  furnish  such  a  promising  battlefield  to  the 
powers  of  good  and  evil — I  shall  make  no  attempt 
to  see  him,  although  it  would  interest  me  to  do  so. 
Knowing  all  that  I  do  know  about  him  and  his  fam- 
ily, I  should  find  it  almost  impossible  to  ignore  per- 
sonal matters,  and  equally  impossible,  in  the  present 
crisis,  to  speak  of  them  without  a  breach  of  good 
taste.  I  have  hardly  seen  him  since  the  death  of  his 
mother,  the  first  lady  Longmoor,  when  he  was  a 
child. — Ah !  there  was  a  rare  specimen  of  woman- 
hood, Brownlow,  if  you  like !  I  stayed  at  Hover 
frequently  during  her  all  too  brief  reign.  This 
young  man  may  esteem  himself  fortunate  if  he  in- 
herits even  a  tithe  of  her  charm  of  person  and  of 
nature." 

After  which  pleasantly  encouraging  words  I  rose 
to  depart.  While,  as  the  Master  held  out  his  hand 
to  me — 

''  Remember  I  am  content  to  pull  the  strings  un- 
seen," he  added.  "  Consult  me  by  letter  if  you  need 
my  advice.  Count  on  me  In  respect  of  pounds,  shill- 
ings, and  pence,  too,  if  your  own  funds  do  not  cover 
the  expenditure  In  which  you  may  find  yourself  in- 
volved. We  must  prepare  for  contingencies — De- 
tective Inspector  Lavender  to  wit.  With  his  par- 
ticipation, by  the  way,  I  should  strongly  advise  you 
not  to  acquaint  Lord  Hartover  unless  absolutely 
compelled.  Convict  the  woman,  but,  If  possible,  do 
so  privately.  Avoid  all  appearance  of  running  her 
down;  since,  for  sentimental  if  no  deeper  reasons, 


3IO  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

it  might  lead  to  a  breach  between  yourself  and  the 
young  man  which  would  be  lamentable  in  the  ex- 


treme." 


This  last  bit  of  advice  was  sound,  but  far  from 
easy  to  follow.  The  more  I  thought  it  over — as  we 
posted  those  fifty  odd  miles,  by  Audley  End,  Bishop 
Stortford,  Broxbourne  and  Tottenham,  from  Cam- 
bridge up  to  town — the  more  clearly  I  saw  how 
greatly  the  fact  of  my  having  already  called  in  the 
help  of  a  detective  increased  the  difficulty  of  my 
seeing  Mademoiselle  Fedore  and  demanding  the  ex- 
planation Hartover  desired.  Could  I  do  so  v/ithout 
taking  Inspector  Lavender  into  my  confidence  re- 
garding Hartover's  discovery?  And  could  I  take 
Lavender  into  my  confidence  without  curtailing  my 
own  freedom  of  action  and  inviting  a  public  ex- 
posure of  Fedore  which  must  be  abhorrent  to  the 
dear  boy?  Here,  indeed,  was  a  problem  hard  of 
solution!  Still  it  appeared  an  integral  part  of  the 
whole,  and  to  the  whole  I  had  pledged  myself.  I 
must  be  guided,  therefore,  by  circumstance,  dealing 
with  each  new  phase  of  this  very  complicated  affair 
as  it  presented  itself;  keeping,  meantime,  as  cool  a 
head  and  quiet  a  mind  as  might  be.  To  meet  dan- 
ger half-way  may  be  less  an  act  of  prudence  than  a 
waste  of  energy.  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof — and  the  good  thereof  likewise,  if  a  man 
has  faith  to  believe  so. 

We  were  to  dine  on  the  way,  and  to  reach  the 
great  house  in  Grosvenor  Square  between  nine  and 
ten  o'clock.     There,  as  I  learned  from  Hartover, 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  311 

he  still — when  he  pleased — occupied  a  set  of  rooms 
upon  the  ground  floor,  with  a  private  entrance  from 
the  side  street,  which  I  well  remembered. 

"  It  isn't  that  I  have  any  particular  love  for  being 
under  the  family  roof,"  he  told  me.  "  But  I  saw 
the  Rusher  wanted  to  oust  me  and  collar  those  rooms 
for  himself,  and  I  did  not  choose  to  have  it.  So  I 
stuck  to  them.  Her  Magnificence  couldn't  give  me 
notice  to  quit  without  appealing  to  my  father,  and 
she  really  had  not  the  face  for  that.  There  are 
limits  to  even  her  audacity!  Now  she  and  I  are 
like  buckets  in  a  well.  When  she  arrives,  I  depart 
and  take  up  my  abode  elsewhere.  Quarrelled  with 
her?  Good  Lord,  no.  She  is  the  most  impossible 
person  to  quarrel  with  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  As 
slippery  as  an  eel — I  beg  your  pardon,  a  mermaid, 
shall  we  say?  It  does  sound  more  polite.  But  hold 
her  you  can't.  She  slithers  through  your  fingers,  in 
that  fascinating,  mocking,  laughing  way  of  hers — 
you  know  it?  " 

Did  I  not?- 

"  And  leaves  you,  feeling  like  every  sort  of  fool, 
cursing,  most  consumedly,  both  her  and  yourself." 

He  laughed  not  quite  pleasantly. 

*'  But,  the  devil  helping  me,  Brownlow,  I'll  be 
even  with  her  some  day  yet.  When  my  father  dies 
— always  supposing  I  survive  him,  which  quite  con- 
ceivably I  shall  not — Her  Magnificence  and  I  will 
square  accounts.  It'll  be  a  little  scene  worth  wit- 
nessing. I  hope,  dear  old  man,  you  may  be  pres- 
ent!" 


312  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

A  wish  I  could  not  altogether  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
echo.  But,  as  he  fell  silent,  staring  out  over  the 
sun-bathed  country,  through  the  cloud  of  dust  raised 
by  wheels  and  horse-hoofs — subtle  lines  of  care  and 
of  bitterness  deforming  the  youthfulness  of  his  beau- 
tiful face — ^I  was  spared  the  necessity  of  answering, 
for  which  I  was  glad. 

All  day — though  towards  me  he  had  shown  him- 
self uniformly  courteous  and  gentle,  loving  even — 
the  boy's  spirits  had  fluctuated,  his  moods  being 
many  and  diverse.  At  one  time  he  was  full  of  anec- 
dote and  racy  talk,  at  another  steeped  in  gloom  or 
irritably  explosive,  swearing  in  most  approved  fine- 
gentleman  fashion  at  any  and  everything  not  exactly 
to  his  taste.  In  short,  while  he  avoided  any  mention 
of  the  object  of  our  journey  and  our  conversation  of 
last  night,  I  could  not  but  see  these  were  persistently 
uppermost  in  his  thought,  keeping  his  nerves  cruelly 
on  edge.  What  wonder,  when  all  his  future  hung  in 
the  balance !  How  far  did  he  actually  love  Fedore 
— how  far  actually  want  her  proved  innocent?  I 
could  not  tell.  His  attitude  baffled  me.  Yet  it 
seemed  incredible  the  society  of  such  a  woman  should 
continue  to  satisfy  him — that  differences  of  age,  sta- 
tion, nationality,  education,  should  not  be  proHfic,  at 
times  at  all  events,  of  repulsion  and  something  akin 
to  disgust.  Quite  independent  of  that  matter  of  the 
jewels  and  the  ugly  suspicions  raised  by  it,  must  he 
not  have  begun  by  now  to  measure  the  enormity  of 
his  mistake  in  marrying  her?  I,  at  once,  hoped  and 
feared  he  had.     While,  as  the  miles  of  road  fled 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  313 

away  behind  us  beneath  the  horses'  trotting  feet, 
the  sadness  of  his  position  grew  upon  me,  until  I 
had  much  ado  to  keep  my  feelings  to  myself. 

Once  arrived,  Hartover  slipped  his  arm  through 
mine,  and  we  entered  the  stately  house  together, 
while  he  said,  a  little  huskily : 

''  Brownlow,  it  is  good  to  have  you — very  good 
of  you  to  come.  Don't  imagine  I  do  not  appreciate 
what  you  are  doing  for  me  because  to-day  I  have 
not  said  much  about  it.  Oh !  how  I  wish  you  could 
always  be  with  me !  Having  given  Cambridge  the 
slip,  you'll  stay  now,  won't  you,  as  long  as  you  pos- 
sibly can?  " 

Deeply  touched  by  his  affection,  I  was  about  to 
assure  him  I  would  indeed  remain  while  I  was  of 
any  real  service  and  comfort  to  him,  when  William 
— grown  stout,  sleek,  but,  as  I  thought,  a  good  deal 
more  trustworthy-looking — came  forward  with  a 
packet  on  a  salver. 

*' What's  that?"  Hartover  inquired  sharply. 
Put    It    down.     I    cannot    be    bothered    with    it 


now." 


"  I  am  sorry,  my  lord,"  the  man  answered,  with 
evident  unwillingness,  "  but  I  am  bound  to  bring  it 
to  your  notice.  His  lordship  sent  by  express  this 
morning  from  Bath.  The  messenger  Is  waiting  for 
your  acknowledgment." 

Hartover's  hand  grew  heavy  on  my  arm. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said.  *'  I  will  send  my  orders 
presently." 

And  he  led  me  into  a  fine  room,  opening  off  the 


314  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

corridor  on  the  left,  where  supper  had  been  laid 
for  us. 

"  As  I  supposed,"  he  went  on,  after  glancing  at 
the  contents  of  the  packet.  "  A  summons  from  my 
father  to  attend  his  deathbed — in  which  last,  by  the 
way,  I  don't  for  an  instant  believe.  Brownlow,  what 
am  I  to  do?" 

^' What  but  obey?" 

"  To  be  told,  when  I  get  there,  either  that  he  has 
been  miraculously  restored  to  health,  or  that  he  has 
changed  his  mind;  in  either  case  that  he  no  longer 
wishes  to  see  me,  and  so — practically — have  the  door 
slammed  in  my  face  ?  No,  I  tell  you  these  repeated 
visits  to  Bath  become  a  farce,  and  an  impertinent 
one  at  that.  My  father  persistently  sends  for  me 
and  as  persistently  refuses  to  receive  me  when  I 
come.  Last  time  I  swore,  if  he  sent  any  more,  he 
would  send  in  vain.  Why  should  I  let  him  make  me 
a  laughing-stock,  and  treat  me  with  less  consideration 
than  one  of  his  own  valets?  Why  cannot  he  be  rea- 
sonably civil  to  me?  It  is  intolerable,  not  to  be 
borne.  But  his  mind — such  mind  as  he  ever  pos- 
sessed, no  great  thing  from  the  first  as  far  as  I  can 
discover — has  been  poisoned  against  me  for  years 
by  the  gang  of  hypocrites  and  toadies  which  sur- 
rounds him.  Only  just  now  " — Hartover  spread  out 
his  hands  passionately,  his  face  flushed,  his  eyes  fill- 
ing with  tears — "  think,  Brownlow,  think  how  can  I 
leave  London?  How  can  I  endure  the  suspense  of 
absence  when — when " 

For  a  moment  I  feared  he  would  give  way  to  one 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  315 

of  those  fits  of  ungovernable  anger  before  which  I 
had  trembled  at  Hover  of  old.  But,  to  my  great 
relief,  he  mastered  himself,  after  a  while  growing 
gentle  and  composed. 

"  You  are  right,  dear  old  man,  as  usual,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  I  will  go.  Then  at  least  my  conscience  as 
a  model  son  will  be  clear,  whatever  his  lordship's  as 
a  tender  father  may,  or  may  not,  be." 

And  so  it  was  settled  he  should  start  at  cock-crow, 
leaving  me  to  deal  with  the  unlovely  business  of 
Mademoiselle  Fedore — an  arrangement  I  found  far 
from  unwelcome,  since  it  secured  me  greater  free- 
dom of  action  than  I  could  have  hoped  for  other- 
wise. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

Left  to  myself,  next  morning,  I  sought  out  Detec- 
tive Inspector  Lavender — a  large,  fair,  pink-faced, 
grey-eyed  man,  with  a  soothing  voice  and  fatherly 
smile,  as  unlike  the  human  sleuth-hound  of  melo- 
drama and  fiction  as  could  well  be.  Before  making 
my  fateful  call  upon  Fedore  it  would  be  very  desir- 
able, I  felt,  to  learn  whether  he  had  any  fresh  news 
for  me  and  shape  my  course  accordingly. 

He  greeted  me  with — 

*'  Well,  sir,  you  are  the  gentleman  of  all  others 
I  was  wishing  to  see.  My  fellow  officers  are  a  bit 
jealous  sometimes  of  what  they  are  pleased  to  call 
Lavender's  luck — and  my  luck  is  uncommonly  to  the 
fore,  I  must  say,  this- morning." 

I  inquired  why. 

*'  Because  this  little  man-hunting  job  of  yours  and 
mine  seems  on  the  tip  of  success.  A  word  from  you 
may  settle  it." 

I  inquired  how. 

"  Well,  sir,  could  you  undertake  to  identify  this 
Mr.  Marsigli  if  you  saw  him?" 

I  answered  that  I  believed  I  undoubtedly  could. 

*'  Then  the  affair  becomes  very  simple.  Laven- 
der's luck,  sir.  Lavender's  luck.  So,  if  you  have  an 
hour  or  two  to  spare,  I  will  ask  you  to  go  with  me  to 
a  certain  humble  residence,  from  the  windows  of 

316 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  317 

which  two  of  my  men  are  keeping  watch  on  a  certain 
door,  In  a  certain  garden-wall,  not  very,  many  miles 
from  here." 

''  In  Chelsea?  "  I  said — the  question  surprised  out 
of  me  by  his  words,  before  I  had  time  to  consider 
the  wisdom  of  asking  It. 

"  Just  so,  sir — In  Chelsea — you've  hit  the  right 
nail  on  the  head."  And,  for  all  his  soothing  voice 
and  fatherly  smile,  the  detective's  grey  eyes  grew 
uncommonly  keen  and  bright. 

"  Pray  may  I  ask,  have  you  any  particular  Interest 
in  a  door  In  a  garden-wall  giving  access  to  a  queerly 
stowed-away  little  house  In  a  Chelsea  side  street?" 

Clearly  there  was  nothing  for  It  but  to  put  him  in 
full  possession  of  the  facts;  at  the  same  time  urging 
him  to  bear  in  mind  the  relation  in  which  the  inhabi- 
tant of  that  same  queerly  stowed-away  dwelling 
stood,  or  was  supposed  to  stand,  to  Lord  Hartover. 

He  considered,  for  some  minutes  In  silence,  rub- 
bing his  hand  slowly  over  his  chin.    Then — 

''  This  promises  to  be  a  more  delicate  piece  of 
work  than  I  expected.  Either  we  must  act  together, 
fair  and  square  and  above-board,  you  understand, 
sir,  without  reserve  on  either  side ;  or  you  must  leave 
It  all  to  me;  or  I  must  retire  from  the  business, 
making  the  best  case  I  can  for  myself  to  the  authori- 
ties, and  leave  it  all  to  you.  It  Is  a  ticklish  enough 
job  either  way.  Now  which  shall  it  be,  sir?  The 
decision  rests  with  you,  since  you  are.  In  a  sense,  my 
employer;  but  I  must  ask  you  to  make  It  at  once, 
before  I  give  you  any  further  Information.     And 


3i8  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

please  remember,  sir,  that  while  I  am  ready  to  do  all 
in  my  power  to  meet  your  wishes  and  spare  the 
young  nobleman's  feelings,  my  first  duty  and  first 
object  is  to  bring  the  guilty  party,  or  parties,  to 
justice,  whatsoever  and  whosoever  they  may  be." 

It  was  my  turn  now  to  consider,  since  I  could  not 
but  admit  the  soundness  of  his  position.  And  I 
found  myself,  I  own,  in  a  dilemma.  To  leave  all  to 
Lavender  appeared  to  me  at  once  cowardly  and 
somewhat  lacking  in  good  faith  towards  the  dear 
boy;  while  to  take  the  entire  responsibility  upon  my- 
self would  be,  I  feared,  both  presumptuous  and  fool- 
hardy. 

"  No,  we  must  work  together.  Inspector,"  I  said, 
finally.  "  You  may  depend  upon  my  loyalty;  and  I 
may,  I  am  sure,  depend  upon  your  discretion,  so  long 
as  the  ends  of  justice  are  in  no  wise  imperilled." 

*'  Well  said,  sir,"  he  replied.  "  I  believe  you  will 
have  no  reason  to  regret  your  decision." 

And  we  proceeded  to  talk  matters  over  thor- 
oughly, he  asking  me  again  for  a  careful  description 
of  Marsigli. — Tall,  of  good  figure  and  distinguished 
appearance,  as  I  told  him,  a  genuine  North  Italian 
type,  crisp  black  hair,  clear  olive  skin,  and  regular 
features;  a  serious  and  courtly  manner,  moreover. 

Lavender  consulted  some  notes. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  said,  "  that  tallies  with  the  account 
of  an  individual  my  men  have  had  under  observation 
for  the  best  part  of  a  fortnight.  Twice  he  has  called 
at  the  house  I  spoke  of.  Our  gentleman  has  added 
a  neatly-grown  moustache  and  beard  to  his  other 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  319 

attractions,  recently,  as  I  fancy;  but  it  will  hardly 
prevent  your  recognising  him — that  is  if  Lavender's 
luck  holds,  sir,  and  I  can  procure  you  a  good  look  at 
him." 

Regarding  my  mission  to  Fedore — we  agreed, 
since  Hartover  could  not  be  back  In  town  under  a 
couple  of  days  at  soonest — It  might  very  well  stand 
over  until  to-morrow,  and  that  meanwhile  I  should 
place  my  time  entirely  at  my  companion's  disposal. 

"  If  we  have  not  laid  hands  on  this  fellow  before 
midnight,  you  shall  be  free  to  follow  your  own 
wishes  as  to  visiting  the  lady,"  he  promised  me;  and 
therewith,  calling  a  coach,  bore  me  off  southwestward 
to  Chelsea. 

The  glorious  summer  weather  of  the  past  three 
or  four  days  was  about  to  terminate  in  the  proverbial 
English  thunder-storm.  I  seldom  remember  a  more 
oppressive  atmosphere.  London  still  offers  a  not 
altogether  satisfactory  example  of  applied  sanitary 
science,  but,  at  the  date  In  question,  once  you  left  the 
fashionable  districts  and  main  thoroughfares,  was 
frankly  malodorous,  not  to  say  filthy.  Half-way 
along  King's  Road  Lavender  paid  off  the  coach,  and 
conducted  me,  on  foot,  by  festering,  foul  smelling  by- 
ways, to  the  back  of  a  row  of  mean  two-storied 
houses.  Gaining  access  to  one  of  them — which  from 
its  dilapidated  condition  I  judged  to  be  empty — 
through  a  yard  strewn  with  all  manner  of  unsightly 
rubbish,  a  dead  cat  Included,  we  passed  by  a  narrow 
passage  and  stairway  to  a  front  room  on  the  first 
floor.    Here  two  detectives  awaited  our  coming,  and 


320  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

here,  seated  on  a  remarkably  comfortless  Windsor 
chair,  by  the  defaced  and  broken  window  I  passed 
what  appeared  a  small  eternity,  looking  out  into  the 
ill-paved  street,  where  groups  of  squalid,  half-naked 
children  played  and  fought,  and  hawkers  plied  a 
noisy,  unremuneratlve  trade. 

Opposite  was  a  long  stretch  of  much-defiled  drab 
brick  wall,  pierced  by  a  green-painted  door,  and  fur- 
nished with  a  fringe  of  broken  bottle  glass  along  the 
top,  above  which  showed  the  upper  branches  of  a 
plane  tree  and  the  roof  and  chimney-pots  of  an  other- 
wise Invisible  dwelling.  The  whole  presented  a  sor- 
did and  disheartening  picture  in  the  close  heavy  heat, 
beneath  a  sullen  grey-blue  sky  across  which  masses 
of  heavy  cloud  stalked  upright  in  the  face  of  a  fitful 
and  gusty  wind. 

And  to  think  this  was  the  place  to  which  Hart- 
over — heir  to  immense  wealth  and  princely  posses- 
sions, heir  to  royal  Hover  affronting  the  grandeur 
of  those  wind-swept  Yorkshire  fells — must  needs 
descend  to  seek  comfort,  companionship,  and  some 
ordinary  human  kindness  of  care  and  woman's  love ! 
The  irony,  the  cynicism,  of  it  struck  through  me  with 
indignation  and  disgust. 

I  am  under  the  impression  Lavender  did  his  best 
to  lighten  the  tedium  of  my  vigil  by  talking,  humor- 
ously and  well,  of  matters  pertaining  to  his  profes- 
sion. That  he  discoursed  to  me  of  the  differences  be- 
tween English  and  Continental  methods  of  criminal 
procedure — the  former  of  which  he  held  notably 
superior  in  dignity  and  in  fair-play — while  his  under- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  321 

lings  smoked  their  pipes  In  modest  silence.  But  I  am 
afraid  I  accorded  his  well-meant  efforts  for  my  en- 
tertainment scanty  attention;  nor  even,  when  the 
storm  broke,  did  I  pay  much  heed  to  the  long-drawn 
cannonade,  the  boom  and  crash  of  warning  elements. 

For,  throughout  that  lengthy  waiting,  the  thought 
of  Hartover  and  of  his  future  had  grown  to  be  a 
veritable  obsession,  dwarfing  all  else  In  my  mind. 
Again  his  pathetic  outcry  over  the  **  poor,  poor,  hate- 
ful little  Chelsea  house  " — the  roof  and  chimney- 
pots of  which  I  could  see  there  opposite,  above  the 
fringe  of  broken  bottle  glass  topping  the  wall — rang 
in  my  ears.  And,  as  It  did  so,  Self,  by  God's  grace, 
at  last,  was  mastered.  Yes,  It  came  to  this — to  all 
else  would  I  give  the  go-by,  readily,  gladly — to  my 
pleasant  studious  life  at  Cambridge  and  Its  prospect 
of  solid  emoluments,  of  personal  distinction  and 
scholarly  renown,  to  my  last  lingering  hope — for 
even  yet  a  faint,  sweet,  foolish  hope  did  linger — of 
some  day  making  Nellie  Bralthwaite  nearer,  and  ah ! 
how  vastly,  exquisitely  dearer  than  a  mere  friend — 
if  thus  I  might  be  permitted  to  redeem  Hartover,  to 
save  him  from  the  consequences  of  his  own  wayward, 
though  not  ignoble,  nature,  and  from  the  conse- 
quences of  others'  wholly  Ignoble  conspiracies  and 
sins.  I  was  ready  to  make  my  sacrifice  without  hesi- 
tation or  return;  only.  In  my  weakness,  I  prayed  for 
some  assurance  it  was  accepted,  prayed  for  a  sign. 

Was  the  sign  given?  It  seemed  so.  I  sprang  to 
my  feet,  calling  Lavender  hurriedly  by  name. 

It  was  late  afternoon  now.     The  worst  of  the 


322  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

storm  over,  though  big  plashy  drops  still  fell,  while 
steam  rose  off  the  sun-baked  paving-stones. 
Through  this  veil  of  moisture  a  man  walked  rapidly 
to  the  door  in  the  wall  and  knocked.  Waiting  for 
his  knock  to  be  answered,  he  turned,  took  off  his  hat, 
shook  it  sharply  to  dislodge  the  wet,  and,  so  doing, 
glanced  up  at  the  still  lowering  sky.  I  saw  his  face 
distinctly. 

Lavender  stood  at  my  elbow. 

"Well,  sir,  well,  sir?"  he  said,  an  odd  eagerness 
and  vibration  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,"  I  declared.  "  Marsigli,  Lord  Longmoor's 
former  butler,  without  doubt. " 

"  You  would  be  prepared  to  swear  to  him  in  a 
court  of  law,  if  required?  " 

"  Absolutely  prepared,"  I  said. 

Here  the  door  was  opened  cautiously  from  the 
garden.  Marsigli  thrust  past  the  servant,  and  dis- 
appeared within. 

Now  or  never !  Lavender  and  his  underlings 
darted  down  the  crazy  stairs  and  across  the  road.  I 
followed  at  my  best  pace,  very  vital  excitement  grip- 
ping me,  in  time  to  see  him  knock,  await  the  opening 
of  the  door,  and — then  a  rush.  The  three  were  in- 
side so  quickly  that,  before  I  could  join  them,  the 
servant — a  middle-aged,  hard-featured,  somewhat 
shrewish-looking  Frenchwoman — was  safe  in  the  cus- 
tody of  the  younger  detective.  Lavender  and  the 
other  pushing  on  for  the  house. 

"  If  she  attempts  to  scream,  throttle  her,"  Laven- 
der said,  in  a  sufficiently  loud  aside  to  have  a  whole- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  323 

somely  restraining  effect  upon  the  captive.  *'  Now, 
sir,"  to  me,  ''  as  little  noise  as  possible  in  getting  up- 
stairs, please." 

And  he  glanced  meaningly,  though  not  unkindly, 
at  my  lame  leg. 

I  crept  after  them  as  quietly  as  I  could,  and  had 
reason;  for  on  reaching  the  landing  we  heard  voices, 
a  man's  and  a  woman's,  high  in  altercation. 

The  door  of  the  front  drawing-room,  I  should  ex- 
plain, stood  open,  the  front  room  communicating 
with  the  back  by  folding  doors.  These  were  closed, 
and  within  them  the  quarrel  took  place ;  but  so  loudly 
that,  as  we  advanced,  I  could  distinguish  nearly  every 
word. 

''  It  is  impossible.    I  tell  you  he  is  still  away.'' 

"  No  one  else  can  have  taken  them.  No  one  else 
has  a  key  to  this  sweet  little  nest — and  so  the  game 
is  up,  my  child,  by  now  the  fraud  discovered.  You 
are  trapped — trapped !  " 

"  Beast,"  the  woman  cried,  in  a  tone  of  concen- 
trated fury  and  contempt.  "  Go.  Do  you  hear?  I 
tell  you  to  go,  or  I  send  Marie  for  the  police." 

"  Pish,  you  little  fool,  you  know  you  dare  not. 
What  money  have  you?  " 

"Money,  indeed!  I  have  none,  and  if  I  had  I 
would  rather  fling  it  in  the  gutter  than  you  should 
have  it.    Go — go — are  you  deaf?  " 

"  Hand  over  the  rest  of  the  jewels  then;  or  I  call 
in  the  police  myself,  and  tell  them — ^you  know  what." 

"  It  is  a  lie — a  lie.    I  am  his  wife." 

"  Idiot — you  are  my  wife,  not  his." 


324  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

*'  You  cannot  prove  it,"  she  said  fiercely. 

"  I  can.    I  have  the  documents  safe  in  Paris.'* 

"  Go  and  fetch  them,  then." 

**  So  I  will,  and  take  you  and  the  jewels  along  with 
me.  For  I  am  willing  to  forgive — yes,  listen — it  is 
your  only  chance  now  that  you  are  found  out. — I, 
your  lawful  husband,  Bartolomeo  Marsigli,  am  will- 
ing to  forgive,  to  condone  your  infidelities,  and  re- 
ceive you  back." 

**  And  I  spit  upon  your  forgiveness.  Understand, 
once  and  for  all,  I  will  never  go  back  to  you,  never — 
I  would  die  first.  Having  had  the  nobleman,  what 
can  I  want  with  the  nobleman's  valet?  Keep  off — 
you  brute.  Touch  me  at  your  peril.  Take  that — 
and  that " 

The  sound  of  a  tussle.    Then  the  man's  voice — 

"  Heigh  I  my  fine  lady,  would  you  bite  then,  would 
you  scratch?  There,  be  reasonable,  can't  you,  for 
I  repeat  the  game  is  up.  Your  aristocratic  boy-lover 
is  lost  to  you  for  ever  in  any  case.  Come  away  with 
me  to  Paris  while  there  still  is  time.  I  love  you — 
and  I  will  have  you  " 

Again  the  sound  of  a  tussle,  wordless,  tense. 

"  That  will  do,  I  think,  sir,"  Lavender  looked 
rather  than  spoke,  and  quietly  opened  the  folding 
doors. 

There  are  certain  spots — in  themselves  often  com- 
monplace enough — which  are  branded,  by  mere  asso- 
ciation, indelibly  upon  the  retina.  So  is  that  inner 
room  on  mine.  I  remember  every  stick  of  furniture 
it  contained;  remember  even  the  colour  and  pattern 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  325 

of  the  wall-paper — a  faded  fawn  dotted  with  tar- 
nished gold  and  silver  fleur-de-lis.  The  room — like 
every  other  back  drawing-room  in  an  unfashionable 
suburb  of  that  day — was  narrow,  but  high  and  of 
some  length,  a  window,  at  the  far  end,  opening  down 
to  the  floor,  a  little  balcony  beyond,  and  the  tops  of 
a  few  fruit  trees  in  the  garden  below. 

Across  the  window  a  couch  had  been  drawn,  upon 
which  Fedore — wrapped  in  a  loose  dressing-gown 
of  some  pale  silk  stuff — had  either  been  thrown  or 
thrown  herself  in  the  heat  of  the  recent  struggle.  On 
this  side  the  couch,  near  the  head  of  it,  stood  Mar- 
sigli,  his  back  towards  us. 

Fedore's  nerve  was  admirable,  her  self-control 
consummate.  Quick  as  thought  she  grasped  the  situ- 
ation and  used  it  to  her  own  advantage.  As  she  saw 
the  doors  open,  disclosing  our  presence,  she  neither 
exclaimed  nor  shrank.  On  the  contrary,  drawing 
herself  into  a  sitting  position,  she  calmly  extended 
one  hand,  with  a  proud  sweeping  gesture,  and,  as 
calmly,  spoke. 

"  Marie  has  done  her  duty  then,  faithful  soul, 
without  waiting  to  be  told!  There  Is  the  door, 
Marsigli,  and  there,  behind  you,  are  the  police — 
and  Mr.  Brownlow,  an  old  friend  of  mine  too — how 
fortunate!  Yes,  arrest  him,  gentlemen;  and  hang 
him  If  you  can — I  do  not  understand  your  English 
laws — as  high  as  St.  Paul's,  for  the  most  cowardly 
and  Insolent  villain  you  ever  took." 

Marsigli  turned,  saw  us,  and  suddenly  raised  his 
right  arm. 


326  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  Die  then,  since  you  prefer  It,"  he  said.  "  Thief, 
liar — adulteress." 

While,  with  a  terrible  cry,  Fedore  leapt  off  the 
couch. 

"A  knife !  "  she  screamed.  "  Save  me.  He  has  a 
knife." 

And,  as  she  ran  towards  us,  I  saw  something  nar- 
row and  bright  flash  downwards  between  her  shoul- 
ders, and — a  red  spout  of  blood.  Her  knees  gave 
under  her.  She  lurched,  flung  up  her  arms,  kneeling 
for  an  instant  bolt  upright,  a  world  of  agony  and 
despair  in  her  splendid  eyes,  and  then,  before  either 
of  us  could  reach  her,  fell  back. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

Of  the  half-hour  which  followed  I  can  give  no 
coherent  account.  As  I  try  to  recall  it,  after  the 
lapse  of  many  years,  details  start  into  vivid  relief, 
but  without  sequence  or  any  clear  relation  of  cause 
and  effect. 

I  have  an  impression  of  helping  Lavender  to  raise 
Fedore  from  the  ground,  and  of  his  muttering — ''  A 
foul  blow,  before  God  a  foul  blow,"  as  we  laid  her, 
quivering  but  apparently  unconscious,  upon  the 
couch.  An  impression  of  sultry,  copper-coloured  sun- 
shine suddenly  and  harshly  lighting  up  the  disordered 
room,  the  grim  assembly  of  men,  and  the  woman's 
pale  recumbent  figure,  as  with  a  glare  of  widespread 
conflagration.  I  have  an  impression  of  Marsigll, 
too,  and  that  a  very  strange  one,  coolly  holding  out 
his  hands — the  right  hand  horribly  splashed  and 
stained — while  Lavender  clapped  a  pair  of  hand- 
cuffs on  his  wrists.  The  fury  of  primitive  passion 
seemed  assuaged  in  him  by  his  hideous  act  of  venge- 
ance, and  he  had  become  Impassive,  courtly  even 
In  manner,  as  I  remembered  him  when  waiting  on 
Her  Magnificence  at  table  or  ushering  in  her  guests. 
He  had  given  himself  up,  as  I  heard  later,  without 
any  struggle  or  attempt  at  escape.  But  above  all  I 
have  an  impression,  nauseating  and  to  me  indescrib- 
ably dreadful,  which — though  I  trust  I  am  not  unduly 

327 


328  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

squeamish — I  shall,  I  believe,  carry  with  me  to  the 
day  of  my  death,  an  impression  of  the  sight,  the 
sense,  the  smell  of  fresh  shed  blood.  Upon  that  I 
will  not  dwell  further,  since,  however  deeply  affect- 
ing to  myself,  it  can  serve  no  useful  purpose. 

Finally — summoned,  I  suppose,  by  the  younger  of 
Lavender's  underlings,  who  had  reappeared  after 
locking  the  servant,  Marie,  in  some  room  below — a 
surgeon  arrived.  Then  I  slipped  away  downstairs 
and  out  into  the  comparatively  cool  untainted  atmos- 
phere of  the  shabby  little  garden.  If  I  was  wanted, 
they  must  call  me.  Not  voluntarily  could  I  witness 
a  professional  examination  of  what,  less  than  an 
hour  ago,  had  been  a  strong  and  very  beautiful  if 
very  sinful  woman,  and  was  now  but  a  helpless 
corpse. 

All  my  thought  had  softened  towards  Fedore. 
Her  evildoings — evil  even  in  respect  of  her  accom- 
plice— were  manifest.  For,  let  us  be  just,  Marsigli's 
crime  was  not  without  provocation.  But  she  had 
played  for  great  stakes  and  had  lost.  The  pathos 
of  irremediable  failure  was  upon  her.  And  I  was 
awe-stricken  by  the  swiftness  of  her  punishment,  the 
relentless  and  appalling  haste  with  which  she  had 
been  thrust  out  of  life.  Into  what  uncharted  regions 
of  being  had  her  astute,  ambitious,  and  voluptuous 
spirit  now  passed?  Regardless  of  the  prohibitions 
of  my  Church,  I  prayed — and  how  earnestly! — her 
sins  might  be  forgiven ;  and  that  through  the  Eternal 
Mercy — so  far  broader,  deeper,  more  abiding,  as 
I  confidently  believe,  than  any  man-made  definition 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  329 

of  it — she  might  even  yet  find  a  place  for  repentance 
and  peace  at  the  last. 

Under  the  plane-tree  I  found  a  rickety  garden 
seat,  on  which,  being  now  very  tired,  I  was  glad 
enough  to  rest. 

How  long  I  remained  there  in  solitude — hearing 
the  distant  roar  of  London  and  a  confused  movement 
and  noise  of  voices  from  the  street.  In  which  I  judged 
a  crowd  had  now  gathered — I  know  not.  But, 
finally,  I  beheld  the  stalwart  form  of  Lavender,  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him  and  his  head  bent  as  in 
deep  thought,  coming  up  the  wet  garden  path  be- 
tween the  straggling  row  of  little  fruit-trees.  His 
aspect  struck  me  as  depressed. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said,  when  he  reached  me.  ''  I 
think  we  have  done  all  we  can  for  to-night.  I  have 
disposed  of  Mr.  Marsigli,  and  I  and  my  men  have 
been  pretty  thoroughly  through  the  house.  Some  of 
what  I  take  to  be  the  stolen  jewels  are  there,  and  a 
certain  amount  of  plate;  but  no  letters  or  papers 
that  I  can  discover." 

He  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  face. 

*'  This  is  strictly  between  ourselves,  sir,"  he  went 
on,  "  you  understand  of  course?  " 

I  assured  him  I  did. 

**  Then  I  think  I  may  say  that  in  my  opinion 
you  can  make  your  mind  easy  as  to  the  existence  of 
a  previous  marriage.  You  remember  the  conversa- 
tion we  overheard?  Her  answer,  you  may  have  ob- 
served, was  not  a  denial  of  the  fact  but  of  the  exist- 
ence of  proof — a  very  different  story.    However,  if 


330  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

we  fall  to  find  proofs  nearer  home  it  will  be  simple 
to  take  a  run  over  to  Paris.  We  shall  have  no  diffi- 
culty with  the  prisoner.  It  is  in  his  interest  to  give 
all  the  information  he  can,  and  he  is  sharp  enough 
to  know  that.  A  rum  customer,  though,  as  I  have 
ever  had  to  deal  with — one  minute  a  mad  savage 
and  the  next  close  on  a  fine  gentleman.  Trying  cattle 
these  foreigners,  always  springing  some  trick  on 
you!  He'll  have  to  swing  for  her,  I  expect — still 
she  must  have  led  him  a  pretty  lively  dance.  Some- 
thing to  be  said  on  both  sides,  sir,  as  in  my  experi- 
ence there  usually  is." 

Much  of  the  above  was  welcome  hearing;  yet  the 
detective's  aspect  remained  depressed.  Again  he 
wiped  his  face. 

"  And  now  I  dare  say  you'll  not  be  sorry  to  be 
moving,  sir,"  he  remarked. 

Then  as  I  rose,  stiff  and  weary,  and  walked  beside 
him  along  the  garden  path,  the  real  source  of  his 
trouble  was  disclosed. 

"  I  feel  I  am  bound  to  apologise,  sir,  for  letting 
you  in  for  so  much  unpleasantness.  I  blame  myself; 
I  was  over-confident,  and  have  got  a  well-deserved 
slap  to  my  professional  pride  as  the  result.'* 

*'  How  so?  "  I  asked  him. 

'*  Why,  I  delayed  too  long  before  opening  those 
double  doors  in  my  eagerness  to  secure  all  the  evi- 
dence I  could — a  mistake  which  might  be  excusable 
in  a  youngster,  but  not  in  one  of  my  standing.  The 
very  secret  of  our  business  is  to  know  the  moment 
for  action  to  a  tick.    I  let  them  both  get  too  worked 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  331 

up.  And,  worked  up  as  they  were,  he  being  Italian, 
I  ought  to  have  foreseen  the  likelihood  of  that  knife. 
No,  sir,  look  at  It  what  way  I  will,  I  am  bound  to 
blame  myself.  It  is  a  discredit,  In  my  opinion,  and 
a  grave  one,  for  a  man  in  my  position  to  have  a  mur- 
der— and  In  broad  daylight  too — committed  within 
three  yards  of  his  nose.  The  less  said  the  better,  I'm 
afraid,  for  some  time  to  come,  sir,  about  Lavender's 
luck." 

I  consoled  the  mortified  and  over-conscientious 
hunter  of  criminals  and  crime  to  the  best  of  my 
ability;  and  then,  thankfully  bidding  farewell  to  that 
blood-stained  and  tragic  little  house,  pushed  my  way, 
with  Lavender's  help,  through  the  gaping  and 
curious  crowd  In  the  street,  and,  bestowing  myself 
In  the  coach  one  of  his  men  had  called  for  me,  rum- 
bled and  jolted  back  to  Grosvenor  Square  through 
the  hot,  thundery  dusk. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

And  now  I  had  before  me  the  task  of  telling  the  dear 
boy  what  must  modify,  and  might  completely  alter, 
the  course  and  complexion  of  his  life.  No  hght  duty 
this,  or  small  responsibility.  It  was,  I  felt,  a  great 
crisis,  a  great  turning-point.  In  what  spirit  would 
he  meet  it,  and  how  should  I  acquit  myself?  I  was 
glad  to  have  a  little  leisure  in  which  to  shake  off  the 
terrible  Impressions  of  yesterday  and  get  my  mind 
into  a  more  normal  attitude  before  delivering  my 
news. 

No  account  of  what  had  happened  could  be  in  the 
papers  under  a  couple  of  days,  so  I  had  every  reason 
to  suppose  Hartover  would  not  receive  any  hint  of  it 
before  we  met.  I  arranged  with  Lavender,  more- 
over, that,  as  his  connection  with  Fedore  had  no 
direct  bearing  on  the  case,  Hartover's  name  was  to 
be  carefully  kept  out  of  such  reports  as  appeared. 
This  done,  I  tried  to  occupy  myself  with  the  books, 
pictures,  and  other  treasures  the  house  contained; 
assiduously  waited  on  by  William,  meanwhile,  who, 
from  his  readiness  to  linger  and  to  talk,  suspected 
more,  as  I  judged,  than  he  dared  ask  or  than  I  very 
certainly  intended  to  tell  him. 

But  my  leisure  suffered  interruption  sooner  than 
I  anticipated,  and  in  a  manner  calculated  to  set  Wil- 
liam's curiosity  more  than  ever  on  edge. 

332 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  333 

On  the  second  day — it  was  a  Sunday — Lavender 
called  about  ten  o'clock,  bringing  me  news  of  which 
more  hereafter;  suffice  it  that  a  great  burden  was 
lifted  off  my  mind.  Having  been  prevented  attend- 
ing morning  service  by  the  detective's  visit,  I  went 
to  church  In  the  evening;  but  returned  little  the  bet- 
ter, spiritually,  I  fear,  for  an  hour's  sermon  In  which 
the  preacher— a  portly,  well-nourished  personage 
just  then  very  popular  In  the  fashionable  world — 
dilated  with  much  unction  upon  the  terrors  of  hell, 
and  the  extreme  difficulty  of  avoiding  them,  the  im- 
possibility of  so  doing,  in  fact,  for  ninety-nine  hun- 
dredths of  even  "  professing  Christians  " — so  called 
— let  alone  the  not  Inconsiderable  remainder  of  the 
human  race.  What  a  gospel  to  set  forth !  What  a 
Moloch  to  offer  as  supreme  object  of  adoration ! 
Yet  this  congregation,  so  representative  of  rank  and 
wealth,  listened  quite  complacently,  without  the 
smallest  evidence  of  criticism  or  of  revolt.  Had 
they  no  heart  to  feel  with?  No  brains  with  which 
to  think?    I  walked  homeward  disturbed  and  sad. 

Before  the  portico  of  Lord  Longmoor's  house 
stood  a  travelling  carriage,  off  which  the  men-serv- 
ants were  loading  down  a  mighty  array  of  boxes  and 
trunks.  And  it  was  Lady  Longmoor  herself,  surely 
— I  could  not  mistake  the  buoyant  step,  the  gay  poise 
of  the  head,  as  of  one  that  should  say,  "  Look,  good 
people  all,  look!  I  like  it,  I  am  well  worth  it" — 
who  swept  up  the  steps  and  into  the  lighted  hall! 
Why  this  sudden  descent  of  Her  Magnificence,  and 
whence  ? 


334  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

I  made  my  way  round  to  the  side-door  and  let 
myself  in,  unperceived  as  I  hoped. 

But  in  the  corridor  William  met  me  with  a  some- 
what distracted  countenance. 

"  My  lord  is  asking  for  you,  sir,"  he  said.  ''  He 
arrived  back  about  half  an  hour  ago.  I  persuaded 
him  to  dine  at  once.  His  lordship  seems  quite  upset, 
sir — not  at  all  well.  But  he  was  very  urgent  to  see 
you  directly,  whenever  you  came  in." 

I  own  my  pulse  quickened  as  I  went  along  the  cor- 
ridor and  into  the  dining-room,  where  I  found  Hart- 
over  at  table.  He  turned  round,  but  without  rising, 
and  held  out  both  hands  to  me. 

"  Oh !  there  you  are,  thank  goodness,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  been  haunted  by  a  childish  fear  you  would 
have  vanished — been  spirited  back  to  Cambridge." 

I  forced  a  laugh  and  inquired  after  Lord  Long- 
moor. 

"  It  is  genuine  this  time.  My  father  is  really  ill — 
so  ill  that  I  felt  obliged  to  take  the  disagreeable 
things  he  said  to  me  in  good  part.  Oh!  you  were 
right  to  make  me  go  to  him,  Brownlow.  And  I  must 
go  again.  It  is  scandalous  the  way  he  is  left  to  the 
mercy  of  doctors,  and  parsons,  and  servants — such  a 
crew,  upon  my  word.  My  stepmother  away  some- 
where— of  course  amusing  herself — I  suppose  up  in 
the  North  with — oh!  we'll  name  no  names.  Safer 
not  " — he  added  with  a  sneer. 

I  enlightened  him  as  to  her  ladyship's  present 
whereabouts. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  he  returned.     "  Only  she 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  335 

will  be  disappointed  if  she  imagines  I  intend  to  clear 
out.  She  must  put  up  with  my  neighbourhood,  and 
hear  what  I  have  to  say,  too,  whether  she  likes  it  or 
not.  By  the  way,  though,  Brownlow,  have  you 
dined?" 

I  felt  incapable  of  eating  a  mouthful  of  food  just 
then,  so  lied,  Heaven  forgive  me,  telling  him  I  had; 
and,  drawing  up  a  chair,  sat  down  beside  the  table 
at  right  angles  to  him. 

*^  Yes,  I  must  certainly  go  to  my  father  again," 
Hartover  repeated.  "  Disagreeable  as  he  Invariably 
manages  to  be  to  me,  I  believe  he  would  have  been 
glad  if  I  had  stayed  on  now.  But  I  couldn't — I 
couldn't.  The  suspense  was  too  great.  Have  you 
seen  her,  Brownlow?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said.  This  was  no  time  for  elaborate 
explanations  or  fine  phrases.  The  simple  truth  sim- 
ply told  would  be  best.  "  And  your  suspicions  were 
not  unfounded." 

The  boy  pushed  away  his  plate,  set  his  elbow  on 
the  table,  rested  his  cheek  in  his  hand,  turning  his 
face  towards  me.  It  had  gone  thin  and  very  white; 
but  he  was  perfectly  composed,  bracing  himself  to 
bear  what  might  be  coming  with  the  pride  of  his 
high-breeding. 

"  Very  well.    Go  on,"  he  said. 

"  She  was  Marsigli's  accomplice.  She  instigated 
the  theft  because  she  wanted  him  removed  and 
silenced.  He  stood  between  her  and  the  fulfilment 
of  her  ambition — of  her  design  to  marry  you." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Hartover,  as  I  paused. 


2,1,6  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  But  we  can  afford  to  judge  her  duplicity  less 
harshly,  because  she  has  paid  the  extreme  pen- 
alty of  it — the  heaviest  penalty  which  can  be  ex- 
acted." 

"What?" 

Hartover's  lips  formed  the  words,  although  no 
sound  issued  from  them. 

''  She  and  Marsigli  had  a  violent  altercation,  with 
accusations  and  abuse  on  both  sides.  In  a  fit  of  un- 
governable fury  he  stabbed  her." 

Again  the  boy's  lips  formed  a  soundless  question, 
while  from  white  his  face  went  grey.  Sweat  broke 
out  on  his  forehead;  but  he  still  remained  composed, 
still  looked  at  me  steadily. 

*'  Yes,"  I  told  him.    ''  Fedore  is  dead." 

Then  his  eyes  closed,  and  I  myself  turned  queerly 
cold  and  faint.  He  looked  so  young,  so  almost 
fragile,  that  it  seemed  an  intolerable  cruelty  thus  to 
deal  him  blow  on  blow.  I  could  have  cried  aloud  to 
him  to  forgive  me ;  yet  to  hesitate,  still  more  to  plead 
for  myself,  would  be  a  greater  cruelty  still. 

"  You  are  quite  sure  of — of  your  facts,  Brown- 
low?  "  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Quite  sure,"  I  answered.  "  The  police  had 
traced  Marsigli  to  the  house  on  a  former  occasion. 
They  were  watching  for  his  coming,  and  called  on  me 
to  identify  him.  I  was  present.  I  saw  what  took 
place." 

Here  William  came  in  bringing  another  course. 
Hartover  motioned  him  peremptorily  to  the  door — 
through  which,  with  a  backward  look  of  astonish- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  337 

ment,  Inquiry,  alarm,  the  poor  fellow,  tray  and  all, 
fled. 

*'  I  do  not  understand."  Hartover  spoke  slowly 
and  carefully,  each  word  standing  oddly  apart. 
''  Perhaps  I  am  stupid — but  why  he — Marsigli — 
should " 

And  there  he  stopped. 

"  It  was  an  act  of  vengeance,  of  revenge.  She  had 
deserted  him;  and  now,  as  he  believed,  betrayed 
him  to  the  police  In  the  hope  of  being  finally  rid  of 
him." 

"Deserted — how  deserted?"  Hartover  demand- 
ed, with  sudden  arrogance. 

'*  Fedore  was  his  wife.  He  and  she  were  married 
here  in  London  three  years  ago.  A  copy  of  the  mar- 
riage certificate,  taken  from  the  register  of  the 
church  where  the  ceremony  was  performed,  was 
shown  me  this  morning.  It  Is  perfectly  In  order  and 
establishes  the  legality  of  the  marriage  absolutely." 

"  The — then  " — he  asked — "  am  I  to  understand 
that  my  marriage " 

*'  Is  void.  A  fraud — legally  Fedore  was  nothing 
to  you." 

The  boy's  hand  sank  on  to  the  table,  with  a  jangle 
of  glasses  overset  among  the  silver.  He  turned  away 
his  head. 

The  moment  was  critical.  I  awaited  the  outcome 
of  it  in  rather  sickening  dread.  Hartover's  physical 
courage  I  knew  to  be  above  reproach — of  the  stuff 
which  charges  gaily  up  to  the  mouths  of  the  enemy's 
guns,  or  leads  a  forlorn  hope.    But,  here,  moral  not 


338  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

physical  courage  was  on  trial.  Had  he  sufficient 
moral  stamina  to  stand  the  test?  And,  as  the  seconds 
passed,  thankful  conviction  grew  on  me  that  he  had. 
There  would  be  no  storm  now,  either  of  anger  or 
of  tears.  Hysterics  and  blind  rage  alike  are  the 
sign  of  weakness,  superficial,  and,  as  often  as  not,  a 
mere  matter  of  nerves.  But  here  we  had  got  down 
to  the  solid  rock  of  character,  of  inbred  tradition 
and  instinctive  pride  of  race.  By  the  greatness  of 
the  deception  practised  on  him,  of  the  discovery  that 
he  had  been  the  prey  and  plaything  of  a  designing 
woman  whose  care  and  love  masked  intensity  of 
worldly  greed,  and  of  the  humiliation  consequent, 
on  this,  the  boy's  self-respect  was  too  deeply  in- 
volved. Whatever  he  suffered  he  would  keep  to 
himself. 

Still,  I  own  his  next  move,  when  it  came,  surprised 
me  by  what  I  can  only  call  its  virility  of  conception. 

He  threw  back  his  head,  got  up,  walked  across 
to  the  fireplace  and,  with  his  hand  on  the  bell-rope, 
the  ghost  of  a  smile — the  bravest,  most  piteous  smile 
I  have  ever  seen — upon  his  lips,  said : 

"  I'm  right  in  thinking,  am  I  not,  Brownlow,  you 
told  me  my  stepmother  arrived  just  as  you  came 
in?" 

I  answered  in  the  affirmative,  not  a  little  perplexed 
as  to  what  was  to  follow. 

He  rang,  and  when  William  appeared  gave  orders 
her  ladyship  be  informed  that  Lord  Hartover  re- 
quested to  see  her. 

"  Let  Lady  Longmoor  be  told  I  will  be  in  the 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  339 

white  drawing-room,  and  that  I  beg  she  will  join 
me  there  with  as  little  delay  as  possible." 

Then  to  me : 

"  You  will  come  too,  Brownlow,  please.  I  prefer 
to  have  a  witness  to  our  conversation." 

So  to  the  white  drawing-room  we  went — a  small 
but  lovely  room,  on  the  walls  of  which  hung  a  couple 
of  superb  Vandykes,  portraits  of  a  former  Lord 
Hartover  and  his  brother,  Stephen  Esdaile,  exquisite 
if  slightly  effeminate-looking,  young  gallants  of  un- 
happy Charles  the  First's  court.  I  had  noticed 
these  pictures,  with  admiration,  yesterday  when 
making  my  round  of  the  house.  In  Stephen  Esdaile 
I  discovered,  as  I  thought,  a  distinct  resemblance  to 
his  descendant  my  ex-pupil,  granting  the  latter  long 
curled  lovelocks  and  a  yellow  silk  brocade  coat. 

Her  Magnificence  kept  us  waiting  some  ten  min- 
utes, to  arrive  at  last  with  a  charming  effect  of  haste, 
still  wearing  a  brown  travelling  dress,  a  white  lace 
scarf  thrown  negligently  over  her  fair  head.  She 
was  all  smiles,  all  pretty  excitement. 

"  Dearest  George — what  a  charming  surprise !  " 

And  she  advanced,  preparing  to  bestow  on  him  a 
chastely  maternal  kiss.  But  the  boy  avoided  it  dex- 
terously, and  bent  low  over  her  hand,  just  not  touch- 
ing It  with  his  lips  instead.  Her  ladyship,  as  I 
judged  by  her  rising  colour,  was  not  insensible  to  the 
slight,  though  she  rattled  on  gaily  enough. 

**  And  our  good  Mr.  Brownlow  too  !  How  really 
delightful !    Surprise  on  surprise.    But  George " 

Her  tone  changed,  a  note  of  anxiety,  real  or  as- 


34q  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

suiried,  piercing  the  playfulness,  not  to  say  levity, 
of  it. 

"  Is  anything  wrong?  You  look  positively 
ghastly,  my  poor  child — as  white  as  a  sheet.  Tell 
me — nothing  is  the  matter — nothing  serious?  '* 

"  Oh  dear,  no,"  Hartover  answered.  "  Nothing 
serious  is  ever  the  matter  in  our  family,  is  it?  We 
bask  in  perpetual  sunshine,  are  clothed  in  scarlet  with 
other  delights,  fare  sumptuously  every  day  and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  Serious  ?  Of  course  not.  What  could 
touch  us?  '* 

Lady  Longmoor  smiled,  raising  her  eyebrows  and 
throwing  me  a  meaning  glance.  She  believed,  or 
pretended  to  believe,  the  boy  was  not  sober,  and 
wished  me  to  know  as  much. 

"  If  it  amuses  you  to  talk  nonsense,  do  so  by  all 
means,"  she  said.  ''  Only  I  am  afraid  you  will  have 
to  forgive  my  not  stopping  here  very  long  to  listen 
to  it,  for  I  am  simply  expiring  of  fatigue  " — she 
stifled  a  neat  little  yawn — "  and  want  to  go  quietly 
to  bed." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  Hartover  answered  courteously, 
'*  if  I  have  been  inconsiderate.  But  I  thought  you 
might  care  to  have  some  news  of  my  father.  I  am 
just  back  from  Bath." 

"Indeed!"  Lady  Longmoor  exclaimed.  "And 
pray  who,  or  what,  took  you  to  poor  dead-alive  inno- 
cent Bath?" 

"  My  father  sent  for  me,  and  what's  more  saw 
me.  He  struck  me  as  rather  badly  out  of  sorts  and 
lonely." 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  341 

"  Ah!  yes,"  she  said,  turning  to  me  with  the  pret- 
tiest air  of  distress  imaginable,  "  it  is  so  terribly  try- 
ing, Mr.  Brownlow.  I  cannot  bear  leaving  my  dear 
lord  in  his  wretched  state  of  health.  It  makes  me 
miserable.  But  what  is  to  be  done?  Someone  must 
look  into  things  from  time  to  time,  you  know.  It  is 
wrong  to  leave  dear  beautiful  Hover  entirely  to  the 
agent,  the  servants,  and  so  on.  Of  course,  they  are 
as  faithful  and  devoted  as  possible — but  still  it  is 
only  wise — don't  you  think? — only  right — I  should 
go  there  occasionally.  Though  I  hate  business,  I 
do  what  I  can." 

"  I  hope  to  relieve  you  of  the  bulk  of  those  bothers 
in  future,"  Hartover  put  in  quietly. 

*'  You — you  charming  scatter-brain  ?  What  next  ? 
No,  mon  enfant,  no — they  are  not  de  votre  age,  re- 
sponsibility and  business  worries.  Continue  to  play 
at  soldiers  and  amuse  yourself  while  you  can." 

"  I  am  tired  of  playing  at  soldiers :  so  confound- 
edly tired  of  it  that,  once  I  am  my  own  master — I 
come  of  age  next  month,  you  remember, — I  mean  to 
send  in  my  papers.  There  is  nothing  to  keep  me  in 
London  now " 

"  Nothing — nobody,  to  keep  you  in  London 
now?"  she  interrupted  teasingly. 

I  listened  in  some  trepidation.  She  trod  on  dan- 
gerous ground.  Had  the  boy  sufficient  reserve  force, 
after  the  ordeal  he  had  so  lately  been  through,  to 
keep  his  temper? 

*'  No,  nothing,"  he  repeated.  "  I  think  there  had 
better  be  no  misunderstanding  between  us  upon  that 


342  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

point — and  upon  some  others.  They  need  clearing 
up — have  needed  it  for  a  long  time  past.  That  is 
the  reason  of  my  asking  to  see  you  to-night.  In  the 
ordinary  course  of  events  we  don't,  as  you  know, 
often  meet.  I  have  to  seize  my  opportunity  when  I 
am  fortunate  enough  to  get  it.  Plainly,  I  do  not  be- 
lieve my  father  can  live  very  long " 

"  And  plainly,"  she  retorted,  "  I  do  not  think  his 
life  is  at  all  likely  to  be  lengthened,  dearest  George, 
by  your  troubling  him  with  absurd  plans  for  throw- 
ing up  your  commission,  leaving  London,  and  taking 
over  the  management  of  things  in  general  at  Hover. 
For  years  Jack  Esdaile  has  employed  himself,  in  the 
sweetest  way,  just  out  of  pure  friendship  and  kind- 
ness of  heart,  in  looking  after  the  Yorkshire  prop- 
erty, and  your  father  has  been  more  than  satisfied. 
But  it  is  too  ridiculous  for  me  to  argue  with  you 
about  it.  Things  will  go  on  in  the  future  precisely 
as  they  have  gone  on  in  the  past.  Only  I  really  must 
protest  against  your  father  being  disturbed  and  an- 
noyed directly  my  back  is  turned.  We  all  thought 
you  had  settled  down  more  of  late,  George,  and  had 
grown  a  little  more  reasonable." 

"Of  late?  Since  when,  pray?"  Hartover  de- 
manded. 

"Oh!  why  since " 

Lady  Longmoor  looked  down  as  though  embar- 
rassed. 

"  But  after  all,  what  is  the  use  of  mincing  mat- 
ters?" she  went  on.  "  I  cannot  help  knowing  you 
young  men  have  your  af  aires  de  cceur — your  entan- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  343 

glements,  shall  we  say? — and  that  these,  although 
of  course  objectionable,  things  one  doesn't  talk  about, 
do  sometimes  have  a  steadying  effect  which  conduces 
to  the  peace  and  comfort  of  your — the  young  men's, 
I  mean — near  relations." 

'*  You  are  speaking  of  an  entanglement  of  mine?  " 
Hartover  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  '*  An  entanglement,  an  in- 
fatuation, which,  as  Mr.  Brownlow  knows,  I  have 
deplored  for  years  and  done  my  best  to  combat;  but 
which — remember  the  person  had  already  left  my 
service,  has,  I  understand,  recently  been  legalised." 

''Who  told  you  this?"  Hartover  said  hoarsely. 

Lady  Longmoor  raised  her  eyes  and  glanced  at 
me,  smiling. 

"  That  good,  faithful  creature,  Halidane. — ^Wait 
a  moment,  George.  Let  me  finish  my  sentence.  He 
had  the  information,  as  I  understand,  direct  from 
Mr.  Brownlow,  to  whom  you  yourself  wrote  an- 
nouncing the  event." 

The  boy  gave  me  a  look  of  sorrowful  reproach, 
remembrance  of  which,  even  at  this  distance  of  time, 
blinds  my  eyes  with  tears  as  I  write. 

"  You  too,  old  man,"  he  said  very  softly.  "  Gad, 
it  needed  but  that." 

And  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  moved  towards 
the  door. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

Both  by  profession  and  inclination  I  am  a  man  of 
peace.  But  for  once  my  sluggish  blood  boiled;  and  it 
would  have  been  a  nasty  hour  for  Halidane  had  his 
smug  and  rosy  countenance  come  within  reach  of  my 
fists.  Many  annoyances  I  had  forgiven  him,  many 
more  was  prepared  to  forgive.  But  that  he  should 
sow  discord  between  Hartover  and  me  at  this  par- 
ticular juncture  outpaced  my  power  of  forgiveness. 
The  fellow  had  kept  a  stone  in  his  pocket  for  years. 
Now  he  threw  it — meanly  and  spitefully,  by  the  hand 
of  a  woman,  thereby  making  it  more  difficult  for  me 
to  parry  the  blow  or  to  retaliate.  Hence  I  sub- 
scribed most  heartily,  I  am  afraid,  to  any  and  every 
evil  which  might  befall  him  in  this  world  or  the 
next! 

"  Either  your  ladyship's  memory  is  at  fault,  or 
your  informant  is  guilty  of  a  remarkably  odious 
falsehood,"  I  said,  so  grimly  as  to  disconcert  my 
fair  hearer  not  a  little,  I  thought.  ^'  I  should  have 
supposed  it  unnecessary  to  declare  that  I  have  never 
discussed  Lord  Hartover  or  his  affairs  with  Mr. 
Halidane.  Any  such  discussion  would  be  repugnant 
to  me  in  the  highest  degree.  If  Mr.  Halidane  is  ac- 
quainted with  the  contents  of  any  letter  addressed  to 
me  by  Lord  Hartover,  he  must  have  acquired  that 
knowledge  by  methods  reflecting  but  scanty  credit 
upon  his  sense  of  honour,  let  alone  his  sense  of  com- 

344 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  345 

mon  honesty.  Yet  I  cannot  pretend  to  be  greatly 
surprised.  For  on  one  occasion,  at  least,  I  have  had 
reason  to  accuse  him  of  entering  my  college  rooms, 
for  purposes  of  his  own,  during  my  absence." 

And  I  recounted,  very  briefly,  what  I  had  seen  and 
heard  on  the  night  of  the  fire  at  the  Master's  Lodge. 

Lady  Longmoor,  none  too  sure  of  the  success  of 
her  last  move,  seized  upon  the  new  topic  with 
avidity. 

**  Ah !  yes,"  she  cried; ''  we  heard  about  that  from 
Dr.  Marston.  He  was  loud  In  praise  of  your  won- 
derful courage  In  saving  the  life  of  his  niece.  Ac- 
cording to  him  you  performed  prodigies  of  valour. 
I  was  so  interested  In  meeting  her — Miss  Davis,  no 
Dynevor — of  course,  I  remember,  Dynevor — quite  a 
nice  girl  and — and  so  very  much  In  love.  Oh !  yes ; 
it  was  all  extraordinarily  romantic,  you  know, 
George — just  like  a  story  In  a  book." 

The  Impertinence  of  these  great  folk!  The  tone 
of  condescension  and  patronage  In  which  her  lady- 
ship alluded  to  Alice  Dynevor  was  by  no  means  lost 
on  me;  but,  I  am  afraid,  ten  thousand  Ahce  Dyne- 
vors  and  their  Impertinent  treatment  at  the  hands  of 
fine  ladles  weighed  as  rather  less  than  nothing  with 
me,  just  now,  as  against  Hartover's  apparent  aliena- 
tion. To  reconquer  his  confidence  and  sympathy,  to 
convince  him  of  my  unswerving  loyalty,  was  the  sole 
and  only  thing  I  cared  about. 

During  the  whole  Interview  we  had  been  kept 
standing,  since  Lady  Longmoor  remained  standing 
herself.     I  fancied  she  had  an  eye  to  rapid  with- 


346  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

drawal  whenever  a  promising  strategic  opportunity 
presented  itself.  As  she  spoke,  she  too  moved 
towards  the  door.  But  Hartover,  who,  to  my  great 
comfort,  had  paused,  listening  both  to  her  imperti- 
nently enthusiastic  flourish  and  my  disclaimer,  faced 
about  blocking  her  passage. 

"  One  moment,"  he  said.  "  Has  Mr.  Halidane, 
may  I  enquire,  crowned  his  amiable  mission  as 
scandal-monger  by  communicating  this  piece  of 
stolen  information  to  my  father?  " 

"  No.  He  felt  it  was  his  duty  to  tell  your  father, 
but  very  properly  consulted  me  first.  And  I  dis- 
suaded him." 

"How  charming  of  you!"  from  Hartover,  not 
without  sarcasm. 

"  I  begged  him  to  wait — not  to  speak  of  it  yet. 
Later,  I  felt,  circumstances  might  not  improbably 
arise  which  would  compel  us  to  break  it  to  your 
father.  But  naturally  I  wished  to  spare  him  as 
long  as " 

*'  Pray,  is  that  a  threat?" 

"  Hardly  a  threat.  But  a  warning — yes,  possibly, 
dearest  George.  Take  my  advice  and  lay  it  to  heart. 
And,  since  plain  speaking  seems  the  fashion  to-night, 
you  know  your  manner  towards  me  is  excessively 
strange — barely  civil,  in  fact.  Have  you  been  drink- 
ing, by  chance?  " 

The  boy  shook  his  head;  but  with  an  air!  Inso- 
lence being  to  the  fore,  it  was  diamond  cut  diamond 
as  between  step-mother  and  step-son. 

"  Oh !  dear,  no.  I  have  touched  nothing  stronger 
than  water  to-day,"  he  said. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  347 

"  Really!  I  am  sorry  to  hear  It,  as  that  leaves  no 
valid  excuse  for  your  behaviour.  But  I  am  tired; 
and,  frankly,  I  can't  admit  any  right  on  your  part 
to  keep  me  here  listening  first  to  nonsense,  and  then 
to  Incivility.  Good-night,  Mr.  Brownlow.  I  do  not 
know  how  long  you  propose  to  stay,  so  good-bye,  too 
— In  case,  which  Is  possible,  I  do  not  see  you  again. 
And  now,  George,  be  good  enough  to  open  the  door 
for  me." 

From  all  which  I  derived  the  conviction  that,  for 
once,  her  ladyship  had  pretty  thoroughly  lost  her 
temper.    Then,  as  Hartover  did  not  move : 

"My  dear  George,  do  you  hear?  Even  if  you 
unfortunately  have  no  love  for  your  mother,  you 
may  still  pay  some  respect,  some  ordinary  courtesy 
towards  your  father's  wife." 

"  For  my  father's  wife  I  have  all  possible  re- 
spect," he  began. 

My  lady's  dark  eyebrows  went  up  until  they  nearly 
met  her  fair  hair. 

"  Indeed !  You  have  a  most  original  fashion  of 
showing  It!  " 

"  But — for  I,  too,  can  Issue  a  warning — I  have 
very  little  of  either  for  my  cousin  Jack  Esdaile's 


mistress." 


An  Instant  of  stupefaction. 

Then :  "  How  dare  you !  How  dare  you !  "  Lady 
Longmoor  stormed. 

She  took  a  couple  of  steps  forward,  with  the  inten- 
tion, I  verily  believe,  of  boxing  Hartover's  ears 
soundly.  But  he  was  too  adroit  for  her.  Catching 
her  by  both  hands,  he  held  them — not  roughly,  but 


348  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

with  a  gallant,  if  naughty  grace,  vastly  engaging. 
Some  colour  had  come  into  his  face.  His  eyes  and 
lips  laughed  saucily. 

"  No,  no.  Your  Magnificence,"  he  said.  "  That 
belongs  to  the  past,  to  the  old  nursery  days,  here  and 
at  Hover,  when  I  was  too  small  to  hit  back.  I  have 
grown  up  since  then,  and  we  are  more  evenly 
matched." 

Ought  I  to  interfere  ?  To  do  so  was  to  risk  losing 
Hartover's  trust  and  affection  for  ever.  Therefore 
I  thought,  and  still  think,  not. 

Meanwhile,  whether  contact  with  physical  force 
—to  her  a  novel  experience — tamed  her,  or  whether 
conscience  was  the  determining  factor,  I  am  uncer- 
tain; but — 

"You  young  boor!"  she  exclaimed;  and  there 
ended  all  direct  protest.  For,  at  once,  she  began  to 
try  and  make  terms  with  him — an  uneasiness,  not  to 
say  an  edge  of  fear,  perceptible  behind  the  fine  chill 
of  her  manner.  "  Pray,  what  do  you  expect  to  gain 
by  insulting  me  thus?  " 

"  What  I  have  never  succeeded  in  gaining  before 
— a  clear  stage  and  no  favour." 

*'  Be  a  little  more  explicit,  please — that  is,  if  you 
really  have  anything  to  be  explicit  about." 

"  Oh  I  dear,  yes;  plenty,  plenty.  I've  no  lack  of 
material,"  Hartover  answered.  "  But  won't  you 
come  and  sit  down,  since  you  are  tired,  so  that  we 
may  talk  it  over  comfortably?  " 

And,  releasing  one  hand,  the  boy  led  her  across 
the  lovely  room  to  a  large  white  and  gold  settee — 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  349 

prettily,  as  he  might  have  led  some  charming  part- 
ner after  a  dance — and,  finally,  sat  down  there  be- 
side her. 

"  Is  It  necessary  that  a  third  person  be  present,*' 
she  asked,  '*  at  this  extraordinary  Interview?  " 

**  I  prefer  Brownlow  to  stay.  If  he  will,"  Hart- 
over  answered.  "  It  Is  desirable  In  your  Interests  just 
as  much  as  In  my  own." 

"  A  packed  jury !  However,  I  am  at  your  mercy 
— two  men  to  one  woman.  If  you  command  I  can- 
not do  otherwise  than  obey." 

And  she  folded  her  hands  In  her  lap,  settling  her 
beautiful  shoulders  back  against  the  soft  white  and 
gold  cushions. 

"  Now  for  this  very  chivalrous  bargaining,"  she 
said  scornfully.  "  For  a  bargain  Is  just  what  It 
comes  to,  neither  more  nor  less,  I  Imagine." 

"  Yes,"  Hartover  answered;  and  while  as  he  spoke 
sauclness,  laughter,  almost  youth  Itself,  died  out  of 
his  face,  leaving  It  grave,  drawn,  and  very  pallid. 
"  You  are  right.  Between  you  and  me,  as  matters 
now  stand,  Your  Magnificence,  It  all  comes  to  the 
dirty,  low-caste  business  of  a  bargain — and  a  hard 
one.  Only  let  us  both  speak  the  truth,  please,  In  as 
far  as  we  are  able.  It  may  save  some  ugly  fighting 
hereafter. — You  say  you  heard  of  the  legalising  of 
a  certain  entanglement  from  Mr.  Halldane.  Was 
that  your  first  knowledge  of  It?  " 

*'  Rumours  may  have  reached  me  earlier." 

"  Through  whom?  " — Hartover  went  white  about 
the  lips — ''  Through  Fedore?  " 


350  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  You  forget,  she  had  left  my  service." 

"  But  had  no  rumours  reached  you  through  her — 
Fedore — of  another  marriage,  about  three  years 
ago?" 

Lady  Longmoor  moved  slightly,  throwing  back 
her  head.  She  was  very  angry,  but  she  was  also  very 
nervous — so,  at  least,  I  fancied. 

'*  This  persistent  asking  of  riddles  becomes  mo- 
notonous," she  said.  "  Of  what  exactly  are  you 
speaking,  my  dear  George?  " 

"  Of  Fedore's  marriage  to  your  butler,  Marsigli. 
They  were  confidential  servants,  to  both  of  whom 
we  all  understood  you  were  a  good  deal  attached.  It 
seems  improbable,  when  they  married,  you  should  be 
ignorant  of  the  fact." 

"Oh!  there  you  are  totally  mistaken,"  she  said, 
with  a  laugh.  "  The  private  lives  of  my  servants  are 
no  concern  of  mine.  So  long  as  they  serve  me  well, 
and  there  aren't  any  scandals  in  the  household,  I  am 
not  so  fooolish  as  to  invite  annoyance  by  asking 
questions.  If  they  are  silent,  I  am  silent  likewise.  I 
have  no  belief  in  fussing — especially  when  the  estab- 
lishment runs  smooth.  And  then — tastes  no  doubt 
differ — ^but  I  really  have  more  important  and  inter- 
esting things  to  think  about  than  sentimental  compli- 
cations on  the  part  of  the  maids." 

"  Even  when  one  of  the  maids  proposes  to  become 
your  daughter-in-law?"  the  boy  put  in  bitterly. 
"  Come,  Your  Magnificence,  what's  the  use  of  hedg- 
ing.   Did  you  or  didn't  you  know?  " 

But  here  her  ladyship  saw  fit  to  change  her  tactics 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  351 

by  making  a  spirited  raid  into  the  enemy's  country. 

"  And  if  rumours,  again,  had  reached  me,"  she 
asked,  "what  then?" 

"  This — that,  knowing,  you  still  said  nothing, 
made  no  attempt  to  prevent  my  doing  this  infamous 
thing." 

"  Stop,  stop,"  Lady  Longmoor  cried.  "  You  for- 
get there  is  quite  another  aspect  of  the  case.  If  I 
did  not  intervene  it  was  simply  because  I  knew  inter- 
vention to  be  hopeless.  Would  you  have  listened  to 
me?  Have  you  ever  listened?  I  am  only  human, 
after  all,  and  my  stock  of  patience,  alas !  is  not  in- 
exhaustible. You  can  hardly  deny  having  made 
heavy  drafts  on  it,  my  dear  George,  for  a  number 
of  years  now." 

"  I  deny  nothing  under  that  head,"  Hartover  said 
quietly. 

"  Your  escapades — to  call  them  nothing  worse — 
have  caused  us — my  poor  lord  and  me — endless  vex- 
ation and  trouble.  I  was  weary  of  hearing  about 
them  from — oh !  well,  from  a  number  of  different 
sources.  People  are  not  slow  in  repeating  what  is 
offensive,  and  your  name  has  become  a  positive  bye- 
word  in  your  regiment  for  every  description  of  objec- 
tionable folly.  Is  it  surprising  if,  at  last,  I  gave  up 
in  despair?  No  doubt,  it  was  wrong  of  me  " — she 
glanced  with  very  moving  appeal  in  my  direction — 
"  but  really,  things  came  to  a  point  last  winter,  when 
I  was  tempted  to  wash  my  hands  of  you  altogether. 
You  must  go  your  own  way.  I  was  helpless  to  re- 
strain you.    All  I  asked  was  some  little  respite  from 


352  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

worry,  from  the  perpetual  wear  and  tear  of  conceal- 
ing these  wretched  stories  from  your  father." 

"  Thank  you.  I  understand,"  Hartover  said. 
"  And  so,  other  plans  for  wrecking  me  having  mis- 
carried— you  and  Jack  Esdaile  devised  a  good  many 
— you  connived  at  this  abomination,  just  as  you  con- 
nived at — at — her  running  after  me  at  Hover  long 
ago,  before  Brownlow  came.  You  encouraged  her 
going  to  see  me  when  I  was  ill — she  told  me  so  her- 
self, told  me  that  and  a  lot  more  too.    And " 

He  paused,  leaning  forward,  looking  on  the 
ground,  while  his  speech  grew  thick  and  unsteady. 

"  And  the  fact — however  vile  the  deception  she 
practised  on  me — that  she  was  kind,  nursed  me, 
helped  me  fight  against  my  bad  habits,  pulled  me 
through,  does  not  lessen  your  guilt  by  one  iota  either 
towards  her  or  towards  me.  Her  death  lies  at  your 
door.  Marsigli,  poor  brute,  may  have  struck  the 
actual  blow,  but  you  are  responsible  for  it." 

"Death?  Fedore  dead? — Marsigli ?— What  do 
you  mean,  George?  What,  in  Heaven's  name,  are 
you  talking  about?" 

In  her  extreme  excitement  and  agitation  Lady 
Longmoor  seized  the  boy  by  the  arm;  but  he  shook 
himself  free,  getting  up  and  backing  away  from  her 
with  a  movement  of  uncontrollable  revolt. 

"Oh!  yes,"  he  said;  "I  know  you've  wanted — 
you've  wanted  for  years  to  finish  with  me,  to  wipe 
me  out.  You've  failed;  but — but  still,  at  the  cost  of 
a  life.  Explain  to  her,  Brownlow,  please.  Tell  her. 
It's  beyond  me.    I  can't." 


CHAPTER  XL 

And  so  for  the  second  time,  on  this  strange  Sunday 
evening,  I  was  called  on  to  recount  what  I  had  heard 
and  seen  in  the  sad,  blood-stained  little  house  at 
Chelsea.  And  having  done  so,  I  withdrew.  Hart- 
over  making  no  effort  to  detain  me.  For  I  felt,  and 
I  think  he  felt  also,  whatever  remained  to  be  said 
must  be  said  behind  closed  doors,  since  It  would  be 
both  unworthy  and  Impolitic  to  subject  this  proud 
woman  and  great  lady  to  further  mortification.  I 
left  the  two  alone,  the  more  willingly  as  the  boy  had 
proved  himself,  kept  his  head,  kept  his  temper, 
shown  himself  at  once  astute  and  fearless.  I  could 
trust  him  to  strike  a  bargain — for,  as  he  said,  be- 
tween himself  and  her  ladyship  a  bargain,  and  a 
hard  one.  It  henceforth  must  be — discreditable 
neither  to  honour  nor  to  justice.  I  could  trust  him 
not  to  be  vindictive.  He  had  not  been  so  towards 
Fedore.  He  would  not  be  so  towards  his  step- 
mother. 

I  went  downstairs  and  into  the  dining-room  again, 
where  I  found  William  still  making  a  pretence  of 
clearing  the  table,  though  it  was  close  on  midnight. 

"  His  lordship  ate  no  dinner  to  call  a  dinner,  sir," 
he  said  tentatively;  ''and  after  travelling  all  day 
too ! '' 

But  I  refused  to  be  drawn.     William's  curiosity 

353 


354  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

would,  in  all  probability,  be  satisfied  by  the  contents 
of  the  morning  papers;  and  meanwhile  I,  unused  to 
such  strenuous  demands  upon  my  imagination  and 
nervous  energy,  stood  sorely  in  need  of  some  rest. 

Finding  me  a  hopeless  subject,  the  faithful  fellow, 
to  my  rehef,  departed,  permitting  me  to  meditate  un- 
disturbed.— What  of  the  future,  Hartover's  future? 
He  had  borne  himself  well  and  manfully  throughout 
the  evening;  but  would  the  events,  now  so  deeply 
affecting  him,  make  more  than  a  passing  impression? 
Would,  he,  a  few  months  hence,  return  to  his  former 
unprofitable  ways?  Would  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  the 
lust  of  the  eyes,  the  pride  of  life  prove  too  strong 
after  all,  and  work  the  undoing  of  this  modern 
Alcibiades  ?  And  what  of  my  own  future  ?  Should 
I  go  back  to  the  untroubled  scholarly  life  of  Cam- 
bridge to  live  and  die  a  college  don?  Or,  supposing 
he  and  I  continued,  in  some  sort,  our  renewed  in- 
timacy of  these  last  few  days,  had  I  the  strength  and 
wisdom  to  guide  him?  Were  we  quite  at  one,  more- 
over, Hartover  and  I,  or  had  Halidane  succeeded  In 
sowing  discord,  a  suspicion  which  would  remain  and 
rankle  In  the  dear  boy's  mind? 

My  thoughts  were  far  from  cheerful  as  I  sat  there 
alone,  the  great  house  quiet  within,  and  London 
hushed  to  midnight  stillness  without.  Would  good 
come  out  of  all  this  evil  upon  which,  shrinking  and 
aghast,  I  had  so  lately  looked?  Deeper  question 
yet — Is  it  possible  that  evil  ever  can  breed  good? 
And  my  thought  wandered  homelessly  through  laby- 
rinths of  speculation  regarding  dualism,  that  appar- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  355 

ently  eternal  inter-relation,  inter-action  of  evil  and 
of  good,  as  manifested  in  nature,  in  history,  in  na- 
tional and  personal  character,  alike.  Is  there,  verily, 
no  good  without  alloy  of  evil,  no  evil  lacking  a  strain 
of  good?  I  thought  of  Fedore,  as  an  example,  at 
once  befriending  and  devouring  Hartover — whereby 
this  mystery  of  dualism  appeared  painfully  deepened 
and  increased. 

But  then — unable,  I  suppose,  to  support  the  sor- 
row of  its  own  homelessness  any  longer — my  thought 
turned  to  the  sheltered  corner  of  the  garden  at 
Westrea — where  the  high  red-brick  wall  forms  an 
angle  with  the  mellow  red-brick  house  front — to 
which,  in  the  sweet  May  mornings,  the  neat  box- 
edged  borders  gay  with  spring  flowers,  the  brimming 
water,  the  avenue  of  oaks  and  the  pasture  gently 
sloping  upward  to  the  sky-line,  so  pleasantly  set  out 
before  us,  Nellie  Braithwaite  would  bring  her  sew- 
ing and  I  the  book  from  which  to  read  aloud. — Ah ! 
surely  this — this  had  been  iwholly  without  alloy, 
purely  and  perfectly  good !  I  pictured  the  scene  in 
all  its  details,  felt  again  the  emotions  engendered  by 
it,  and  received  comfort  to  my  soul — for — ^not  for 
very  long,  alas ! 

The  door  opened.  Hartover  swung  in.  His  face 
was  still  drawn  and  thin,  but  a  spot  of  colour 
burned  on  either  cheek  and  his  eyes  were  extraordi- 
narily bright. 

''  That's  over,"  he  said.  *'  It  has  been  damnable, 
utterly  damnable.  But  it  is  done  with.  Now,  please 
God,  we  start  afresh — don't  move,  Brownlow." 


356  THE  TUTOR^S  STORY, 

This  as  I  prepared  to  rise. 

''  I  must  talk,"  he  went  on — "  talk  to  you  now 
while  the  hot  fit  is  still  on  me,  so  that  you  may 
register  and,  later,  whip  me  up  if  I  check  or  show  any 
sign  of  running  slack.  Remind  me  of — of  to-night. 
I  have  got  what  I  bargained  for — my  clear  stage  and 
no  favour.  My  step-mother  signs  a  truce,  under 
compulsion  of — oh !  yes,  I  know  how  ugly  it  sounds ! 
compulsion  of  fear,  the  fear  of  exposure  and  social 
ruin.  If  she  interferes  between  me  and  my  father, 
he  shall  be  told  certain  facts.  If,  after  his  death,  I 
find  she  has  played  tricks  with  the  property,  I  shall 
go  to  law,  which  will  be  equivalent  to  publishing  those 
same  facts  to  all  the  world.  If  she  keeps  faith  with 
me,  I  will  stand  by  her  and  do  everything  in  my 
power  to  shield  her  name  from  scandal  and  disgrace. 
— For,  Brownlow,  those  who  sold  her,  as  a  little 
more  than  a  child,  to  a  man  nearly  twice  her  age,  and 
a  weak-brained,  dyspeptic  valetudinarian  at  that,  did 
a  very  cruel  thing. — All  the  same,  the  Rusher  has  to 
vanish.  As  long  as  my  father  lives  he  shall  never 
darken  these  doors,  or  those  of  Hover,  again.  That 
is  absolute." 

While  he  spoke,  Hartover  roamed  up  and  down 
the  room  restlessly,  working  off  his  excitement.  Now 
he  came  and,  sitting  down  on  the  arm  of  my  chair, 
laid  his  hand  gently  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Dear  old  friend,  forgive  me,"  he  said.  *'  I  ought 
to  have  known  better.  It  was  only  for  an  instant  I 
distrusted  you;  but  I  was  so  knocked  about.  The 
road  to  freedom — for  it  is  freedom,  through  all  this 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 


357 


shame  and  misery,  this  horror  of  crime  and  violence, 
I  recognise  that — has  been  very  frightful  to  tread. 
Nothing  can  ever  look  quite  the  same  again.  I  am 
new  born,  not  only  to  man's  estate,  but  to  a  new- 
vision  and  understanding  of  what  I  may  and  will, 
God  helping  me — I  don't  shy  at  a  little  bit  of  piety 
for  once ! — do  with  my  life.  Only  the  pains  of  that 
new  birth  have  been  as  the  pains  of  hell,  dear  old 


man." 


And  here  I  think  the  tears  came,  for  the  boy's 
hand  went  up  hastily  to  his  eyes,  and  he  turned  away 
his  face — from  which  I  opined  it  would  be  some 
time  before  he  and  youth  parted  company,  even 
yet! 

"  Gad !  "  he  said,  ''  I  believe  I  should  be  thankful 
never  to  set  eyes  on  a  petticoat  again,  as  long  as  I 
live;  but,"  with  a  rather  weary  little  laugh,  '*  I  sup- 
pose the  misogynist  attitude  of  mind  won't  last,  what- 
ever else  does !  Look  here,  Brownlow,  how  soon  can 
you  be  ready  to  go  up  to  Hover  with  me  ?  I  hear  the 
grouse  promise  well  this  season,  and  I'll  be  hanged 
if  Colonel  Jack  puts  a  ha'porth  of  shot  into  a  soli- 
tary one  of  them.  And,  oh!  dear  me;  I  want  to 
get  away  from  London,  away  to  the  clean  wind  and 
the  open  moors  and — forget." 

I  took  no  reading  party  to  North  Wales  that  sum- 
mer, but  rode  Warcop's  horses  and  tramped  the  fells 
with  Hartover  instead.  And  when  I  went  back  to 
Cambridge  at  the  beginning  of  the  October  term, 
the  boy — having  sent  in  his  papers  on  his  twenty-first 
birthday — went  back  with  me,  thus  carrying  out  his 


358  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

old  wish  of  passing  at  least  one  year  at  the  Uni- 
versity. 

And  Marsigli  never  came  to  trial,  but  died  by  his 
own  hand  in  gaol,  to  Lady  Longmoor's  immense  re- 
lief, as  I  imagine;  but  to  Detective  Inspector  Laven- 
der's immense  disgust  and  discouragement  of  belief 
in  his  luck. 

"  The  authorities  may  ignore  it,  sir,"  he  said  to 
me;  "  but  I  can't.  That  affair  hammered  more  nails 
into  the  coffin  of  my  professional  reputation,  or 
ought  to  have  done  so  if  every  man  had  his  deserts, 
than  I  care  to  count." 


CHAPTER  XLI 

Little  further  remains  to  be  told.  The  story  of  my 
life,  that  is  of  its  more  interesting  and  critical  por- 
tion, which  I  began  to  write  in  the  long  summer 
mornings  when  hay  harvest  kept  more  than  half  the 
parish  busy  in  the  fields,  has  occupied  my  leisure 
hours  until  now,  when  the  first  December  snow  show- 
ers fling  a  glittering  mantle  about  royal  Hover, 
rising  there  across  the  valley  amid  the  domes  and 
spires  of  the  mighty  pines. 

And,  as  the  record  nears  completion,  the  ques- 
tion comes,  what  shall  be  done  with  It?  Shall  I  lock 
it  away  with  other  treasured  sacred  things — a  few 
letters,  one  or  two  faded  portraits  (early  examples 
of  the  photographer's  doubtfully  flattering  art),  a 
woman's  glove,  too,  and  a  tag  of  once  white  ribbon 
foxed  by  age — a  little  hoard  to  be  burned  unlooked 
on  when  the  peaceful  churchyard,  here  close  at  hand, 
receives  the  baser  part  of  me,  and  my  soul  goes  back 
to  God  who  gave  it?  Or,  when  that  time  comes,  un- 
dreaded  yet  uncraved  for — since  life  still  is  sweet — 
shall  this  record  pass  into  the  hands  of  her  who  has 
been  its  chief  Inspiration,  the  Laura,  worthy  of  how 
far  more  melodious  a  Petrarch,  the  Beatrice,  worthy 
of  how  far  more  eloquent  a  Dante,  than  my  obscure 
and  humble  self?  Is  it  mere  weakness,  outcome  of 
an  old  man's  doting  and  futile  vanity,  clutching  at 

359 


36o  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

the  shadow  where  the  substance  is,  and  always  had 
been,  beyond  his  grasp,  which  makes  me  thus  desire 
— when  revelation  can  no  longer  bring  heartburn- 
ings or  disquiet — those  wise  and  glorious  eyes  should 
read  the  secret  of  my  love  and  of  my  sacrifice  at  last? 

Sentimental?  And,  after  all,  why  not?  For  who 
am  I  to  condemn  sentiment,  which,  if  it  contain  no 
corrupt  and  morbid  elements,  is  surely  the  strongest 
driving  power  towards  noble  deeds  and  heroical  ven- 
tures human  history  can  show?  To  decry  or  fear 
sentiment  is  to  decry  or  fear  the  finest  achievements 
of  art,  of  literature,  of  romance,  I  had  almost  said 
of  religion  itself — all  that,  in  short,  upon  which 
spirit,  as  distinct  from  matter,  feeds  and  thrives. 

And  this,  quite  naturally  if  not  quite  obviously, 
brings  me  back  to  the  year  Hartover  was  up  at  Cam- 
bridge. During  the  few  days  I  spent  there  myself, 
while  making  my  peace  with  the  members  of  the 
deserted  reading  party  and,  to  some  extent,  with  the 
good  Master  himself,  I  contrived  to  find  time  for  an 
afternoon  at  Westrea.  Nellie  Braithwaite  must  hear 
something  of  all  which  had  lately  happened;  yet  to 
inform  her  by  letter  appeared  to  me  inadvisable.  I 
did  not  approve  of  carrying  on  any  sort  of  corre- 
spondence behind  her  father's  back.  I  must  not  raise 
hopes  which  might  never  be  realised;  but  I  might, 
without  indiscretion,  let  her  know  Hartover  was  not 
only  free,  but  fired,  through  that  same  freedom,  with 
liberal  ideas  and  worthy  purposes — let  her  know,  fur- 
ther, I  had  been  faithful  to  my  promise,  and  had 
thrown  in  my  lot  with  the  dear  boy's  for  good  and 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  361 

all,  so  that  nothing  short  of  rejection  on  his  part 
would  make  me  leave  him  again. 

But  I  speedily  perceived,  with  mingled  shame  and 
admiration,  any  fear  of  raising  undue  hopes  was 
quite  uncalled  for.  I  had  underrated  alike  the  cour- 
age and  sensibility  of  Nellie  Braithwalte's  nature. 
For  her  gladness  at  my  news  was  veiled  by  a  sweet 
reserve  both  of  expression  and  enquiry — assurance 
of  Hartover's  well-being  bringing  all  her  maidenly 
dignity  into  play.  Henceforth,  as  I  saw,  she  would 
wrap  her  love  about  with  silence,  hiding  it  even  from 
me,  her  chosen  friend,  in  delicate  yet  lofty  pride.  No 
finger  would  she  raise  to  beckon  Hartover  or  recall 
that  early  love  passage;  while,  as  I  also  saw,  my 
presence  in  future  would  be  less  acceptable  to  her  be- 
cause, from  my  closeness  to  Hartover,  I  formed,  in 
a  measure,  a  link  between  him  and  herself. 

I  left  Westrea,  on  my  return  journey  to  Cam- 
bridge, somewhat  crestfallen.  As  reward  of  my  zeal 
in  fulfilling — and  successfully,  moreover — the  prom- 
ise I  gave  her,  was  I  to  be  exiled  from  her  confidence? 
That  seemed  arbitrary  and,  indeed,  a  little  unjust. 
Whereupon  I  made  a  reflection — made  how  many 
thousand  times  already  by  how  many  thousands  of 
my  sex ! — that  the  ways  of  woman,  be  she  pure  and 
noble  or,  alas !  signally  the  reverse,  are  one  and  all 
mysterious,  past  forecasting  and  past  finding  out. 

And  at  that  I  had  to  leave  it.  For  Hartover,  on 
his  part,  spoke  no  word,  gave  no  sign.  Hover,  the 
moors,  the  stables,  the  kennels,  and,  as  I  observed 
with  satisfaction,  so  much  of  the  varied  business  of 


362  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

the  great  property  as  he  could  get  in  touch  with, 
filled  his  time  and  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  all  ques- 
tion of — in  his  own  phrase — "  petticoats."  Was 
Nellie  Braithwaite  forgotten  then?  Once  again  I 
must  be  stern  with  myself;  for  how  should  it  advan- 
tage me  even  if  she  was? 

But  specially  did  stables  and  kennels  bulk  big 
among  the  dear  boy's  many  interests  and  occupations 
during  that  pleasant  long  vacation,  whereby  Warcop 
was  made  the  happiest  of  men.  For  one  morning, 
about  a  fortnight  after  our  arrival,  Hartover  threw 
a  letter  to  me  across  the  breakfast  table. 

*'  Read  that,"  he  said.  "  The  Rusher  signs  his  ab- 
dication— gives  up  the  hounds,  moves  his  horses — 
or  what  he  is  pleased  to  call  his — I  think  I  know  who 
has  paid  for  them  and  their  keep  for  a  good  dozen 
years  now — and  hunts  in  Leicestershire  this  winter. 
My  father  must  not,  of  course,  be  worried,  so  Her 
Magnificence  forwards  the  letter  to  me.  Really,  it 
strikes  me  as  rather  pathetic,  Brownlow.  How  are 
the  mighty  fallen !  But,  pathetic  or  not,  the  hounds 
must  be  hunted  this  season,  or  the  mouth  of  our 
enemy — Bramhall,  to  wit — will  be  altogether  too  ex- 
tensively enlarged  over  us. — Oh !  well,  if  it  comes  to 
that,  I  suppose  I  can  hunt  them  well  enough  myself, 
with  Warcop's  help,  putting  in  a  day  every  fortnight 
or  so  from  Cambridge  during  term  time.  I'll  back 
myself  to  be  a  popular  master  before  the  end  of  the 
winter,  though  there  will  be  prejudices  to  live  down, 
no  doubt.  Gad!  so  much  the  better — carriere 
ouverte  aux  talents.    After  all,  I  can  canoodle  and 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  363 

coax  against  most  people,  you  know,  and  be  nine  foot 
high,  too,  when  I  like." 

Which  was  perfectly  true.  Had  I  not  experience 
thereof?  I  fell  in  with  this  idea  the  more  readily 
since  our  English  institution  of  fox-hunting  plays  so 
large  a  part  in  country  life,  bringing  landlord  and 
tenant  together  on  equal  terms  and  establishing  a 
friendly  and  w^holesome  relation  Invaluable  as  be- 
tween class  and  class.  Mastership  of  the  Hover, 
though  infringing  somewhat  upon  the  routine  of  his 
college  work,  was  in  my  opinion  calculated  to  prove 
an  excellent  Introduction  to  those  larger  and  im- 
mensely more  important  forms  of  mastership  which, 
for  Hartover,  seemed  to  loom  up  by  no  means  far 
ahead. 

But  creaking  gates  hang  long,  the  proverb  says. 
And  this  proved  true  of  the  invalid  at  Bath.  The 
months  passed,  and  yet  Lord  Longmoor,  though  in- 
creasingly fanciful,  Increasingly  querulous,  Increas- 
ingly a  sick  man.  In  truth,  still  kept  a  feeble  hold  of 
life  through  autumn,  winter,  spring,  and  on  into  the 
golden  heats  of  midsummer.  The  May  term  again 
drew  to  its  close,  and  with  it  Hartover's  sojourn  at 
Cambridge.  How  had  the  university  affected  and 
Influenced  him?  Chiefly,  I  believed,  as  a  pause,  a 
place  of  recovery  before  further  effort.  Out  of  the 
great  world  he  had  come,  surfeited  by  all  too  heavy 
a  meal — for  one  of  his  age — of  the  fruit  of  the  tree 
of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil.  Back  Into  the 
great  world.  It  was  ordained,  he  must  return.  But 
he  had  rested  by  the  way,  had  slept  off  the  effects, 


364  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

so  to  speak,  of  that  over-much  and  evil  fruit-eating, 
had  at  once  steadied  and  grown  younger. 

Meanwhile  he  was  the  darling  of  the  college; 
where,  from  the  good  Master,  through  ranks  of  dons 
and  gownsmen,  down  to  gyps  and  bed-makers,  he  was 
an  object  of  interest  and  of  admiration.  And  this 
less  from  snobbery,  the  vulgar  spirit — too  common 
among  us — which  "  loves  a  lord,"  than  from  his  own 
charm  and  grace  and  the  irresistible  way  he  had  with 
him.  The  affection  he  inspired  and  interest  he  ex- 
cited, touched  and  amused  him,  when  he  happened 
to  be  conscious  of  it;  but  his  eyes,  so  I  fancied,  were 
set  on  something  beyond,  and  as  the  time  of  depar- 
ture drew  near  I  seemed  to  observe  in  him  a  grow- 
ing preoccupation  and  restlessness. 

And  so  the  anniversary  of  his  hurried  journey  to 
find  me  came  round — the  anniversary,  too,  of 
Fedore's  death.  Did  he  remember  it,  I  wondered — 
remember  his  torment  of  suspense  and  desolation? 
He  never  spoke  of  Fedore,  or  of  the  crowded  events 
of  those  few  rather  desperate  days.  The  recupera- 
tive power  of  youth  is  wellnigh  unlimited.  Was 
remembrance  of  them  erased  from  his  mind  by  a 
natural  and  healthy  process  of  attrition,  or  was  his 
silence  intentional?    Again  I  wondered. 

When  he  left  Cambridge  I  should  go  with  him, 
and  not  for  the  long  vacation  merely.  But,  by  the 
Master's  kind  advice  and  permission,  I  was  to  retain 
both  my  fellowship  and  my  rooms,  putting  in  so  much 
residence  in  the  course  of  the  year  as  I  could  man- 
age.   Of  this  I  was  glad.    Not  for  an  instant  did  I 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  365 

hesitate  to  follow  Hartover;  but  it  would,  I  own, 
have  caused  me  a  keen  pang  to  sever  my  connection 
with  the  university  entirely. 

All  day,  on  the  anniversary  of  Fedore's  death,  I  had 
been  packing  and  sorting  my  now  not  inconsiderable 
library,  destroying — odious  occupation — old  letters 
and  papers.  While  so  engaged  the  thought  of  Nellie 
Braithwaite  had  been  curiously,  almost  oppressively, 
present  to  me.  Only  thrice  had  I  seen  her  during 
the  past  eight  or  nine  months.  I  should,  in  all  prob- 
ability, see  her  even  less  frequently  in  future.  Yes, 
Hartover's  emancipation,  strangely  enough,  parted 
us  far  more  effectually  than  Hartover's  wrongdoings 
or  Hartover's  troubles  ever  had.  Would  she  live  on, 
without  change  of  estate  or  of  place,  from  girlhood 
to  womanhood,  womanhood  to  old  age,  busied  with 
home  and  household,  and  the  care  of  her  father, 
still  cherishing  the  exquisite  yet  unfruitful  love  of  her 
youth  ?  That  was  a  lovely  picture,  but  a  sad  one.  As 
I  destroyed  papers,  sorted  and  packed  my  books,  I 
almost  unconsciously  placed  another  picture  beside  It. 
For  years  hence,  when  the  shadows  grew  long,  might 
it  not  be  possible  she  would  weary  of  such  an  exist- 
ence? Then,  in  the  twilight,  might  not  my  turn 
come,  might  not  she  and  I  grow  old  together,  dwell- 
ing under  the  same  roof,  bearing  the  same  name  at 
last?  A  lovely  picture  too — If  a  little  dim  and  pallid 
— lovely  at  least  to  me.  I  went  on  with  my  sorting 
and  packing,  a  smile  on  my  lips  and  grip  of  not  un- 
pleasant pain  about  my  heart. 

Went  on,  until  it  grew  too  dark  for  me  to  read  the 


366  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

names  of  the  books  as  I  took  them  down  off  the 
shelves.  I  lighted  the  candles  on  my  study  table, 
using  a  wax  vesta  from  an  old  silver  box  the  dear  boy 
had  once  given  me.  And,  so  doing,  I  recollected  with 
a  start  that,  absorbed  in  my  own  preparations  for 
departure,  I  had  not  seen  him  all  day.  The  occur- 
rence was  so  unusual  that,  realising  it,  I  felt  some- 
what uneasy.  I  recollected,  moreover,  that  he  had 
not  put  in  an  appearance  at  hall.  This  increased  my 
uneasiness.  I  sent  round  to  his  rooms,  in  the  big 
quadrangle,  only  to  learn  that  he  had  gone  out  riding 
early,  taking  no  groom  with  him,  and  leaving  no  in- 
formation as  to  the  probable  time  of  his  return  or  as 
to  his  destination. 

Nine  o'clock,  half-past  nine,  ten  o'clock  struck. 
Darling  of  the  college  or  not,  at  this  rate  my  young 
lord  ran  a  chance  of  being  ignominiously  gated.  Un- 
easiness deepened  Into  anxiety,  anxiety  into  down- 
right alarm. 

It  was  not  possible  to  sit  still  in  this  state  of  sus- 
pense any  longer.  I  went  out  on  to  the  landing,  down 
my  staircase,  and  half-way  across  the  small  court — 
charming  in  the  warm  gloom  of  the  midsummer 
night,  with  Its  tinkling  fountain,  its  squares  and  ob- 
longs of  lamplit  window — when  footsteps  rang  out 
under  the  archway,  and  a  young  man  came  towards 
me,  not  in  regulation  cap  and  gown,  but  high  riding 
boots,  white  cord  breeches,  his  coat  and  hat  appear- 
ing white  also,  so  thickly  overlaid  were  they  by  dust. 

Hartover  slipped  his  arm  within  mine. 

*' That's  right,"  he  said,  with  a  queer,  gay,  yet 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  367 

half-shy  little  laugh.  "  I  could  have  sworn  I  should 
find  you,  every  feather  on  end,  clucking  after  your 
lost  chick;  so  I  came  right  on  here,  without  stopping 
to  change  or  have  a  brush." 

'*  But  where  have  you  been,  my  dear  boy?"  I 
cried,  still  agitated,  struck,  moreover,  by  a  strange- 
ness in  his  manner.  Not  that  his  gaiety  was  forced. 
On  the  contrary,  it  seemed  to  bubble  up  and  over- 
flow out  of  some  depth  of  incontrollable  gladness. 

*'  Doing  the  best  day's  work  of  my  life,"  he  an- 
swered. "  But  let  me  come  up  to  your  rooms.  We 
can't  talk  here.  And  there  are  things  to  explain. 
Good  as  the  day's  work  is,  you  still  have  to  put  the 
finishing  touch  to  it.  Can't  do  without  you,  you  see, 
in  good  fortune  any  more  than  in  bad — even  if  I 
wanted  to,  which,  God  knows,  I  don't.  But  forty 
miles,  dear  old  man,  In  dust  and  sun — or  nearer  fifty, 
for,  like  a  fool,  I  lost  my  way  coming  back  and  gan- 
dered  about  for  ever  so  long  In  those  fenlands. 
Gad!  how  enchanting  they  are  though,  Brownlow! 
— ^The  vast  reed  beds,  and  great  meres  like  shining 
mirrors,  holding  miles  of  sky  In  their  pretty  laps,  and 
the  long  skeins  of  wild-fowl  rising  off  them  and  call- 
ing to  the  sunset.  I  have  never  understood  the  fasci- 
nation of  a  flat  country  before.  I  must  go  and  have 
another  look  at  it  all  some  day — some  day — because 
it  will  speak  to  me  of " 

He  broke  off.  And  again  he  laughed,  mounting 
the  dark  stairs  so  rapidly  beside  me  that  I  had  some 
ado  to  keep  pace  with  him. 

Once  inside,  he  threw  hat,  gloves,  and  crop  down 


368  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

on  the  table,  blew  out  the  candles,  and,  crossing  the 
room,  lowered  himself  gingerly  on  to  the  window- 
seat. 

"Let's  sit  in  the  dark. — ^^Jeshurun!  I  am  stiff, 
though! — You  don't  mind — the  dark  I  mean — do 
you?    It's  more  peaceful." 

I  minded  nothing  but  delay,  for  a  feverish  impa- 
tience was  upon  me. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on;  "the  finishing  touch  has  to 
be  yours,  Brownlow.  There's  something  I  want  you 
to  do  for  me,  as  usual." 

"What?"  I  asked. 

"  This :  You  remember  that  which  happened  a 
year  ago  to-day?  " 

His  tone  changed,  sobered.  I  did  remember,  and 
told  him  so. 

"  I  have  waited  through  a  whole  year  as  a  pen- 
ance— a  penance  self-inflicted  in  expiation  of  certain 
sins.    During  that  year  I  have  lived  cleanly." 

And  I  felt,  rather  than  saw,  his  eyes  fixed  on  mine 
— felt,  too,  that  his  face  flushed. 

"  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  by  waiting  I  risked 
losing  what  I  supremely  longed  for.  But  I  accepted 
that  risk  as  part  of  my  penance — the  very  heart  of  it, 
in  fact." 

"  Yes,"  I  murmured,  greatly  marvelling  to  what 
his  speech  should  lead  up. 

He  leaned  across  and  laid  his  hand  on  my  knee. 

"  I  rode  over  to  Westrea  to-day,"  he  said. 

"  Westrea?  What  do  you  know — how  have  you 
heard  about  Westrea?  "  I  exclaimed. 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  369 

*'  From  Warcop,  when  last  we  were  at  Hover.  I 
could  not  say  anything  to  you,  Brownlow,  because 
I  would  not  have  you  Involved.  The  Bralthwaltes 
were  your  friends,  and  I  didn't  want,  of  course,  to 
come  between  you  and  them,  which  could  hardly  have 
been  avoided  If — well,  If  things  had  turned  out  badly 
for  me." 

Again  that  note  of  incontrollable  gladness  in  his 
voice. 

*'  I  felt  It  would  be  unfair  to  ask  questions  of  you, 
as  I  could  not  explain;  and  the  penance  had  to  be 
completed  In  full  before  I  could  talk  of  It.  But  War- 
cop  was  different.  I  had  no  scruple  In  finding  out 
from  him  where  they — where  she — now  lived. 
And " 

He  turned,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  window-sill, 
speaking  softly,  and  looking  out  Into  the  fair  wind- 
less night. 

"  I — I  have  seen  her.  I  have  been  with  her  nearly 
all  day.  Bralthwaite  was  away,  luckily — at  Thet- 
ford,  I  believe  she  told  me — at  some  political  meet- 
ing. She  has  not  changed,  except  that  she  Is  even 
more  beautiful  than  I  remembered.  And  she  loves 
me.  She  will  marry  me,  when  her  father  gives  his 
consent." 

A  minute  or  more  of  silence,  for  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  speak.  But,  absorbed  as  Hartover  was  in 
his  own  joy,  he  failed  to  notice  it,  I  think.  Presently 
he  faced  round,  and  once  more  I  felt  his  eyes  fixed 
on  mine. 

*'  And  this  is  where  your  good  offices  come  in,  dear 


370  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

old  man,''  he  went  on.  "  Of  course  I  shall  go  to 
Bralthwaite  myself,  and  ask  for  her  hand  with  all 
due  form  and  ceremony.  But  I  want  you  to  see  or 
write  to  him  too,  and  back  me  up.  Tell  him  I'm  not 
the  young  rake  and  wastrel  he  probably  imagines  me 
to  be — and  which — well — I  once  was.  Tell  him  he 
needn't  be  afraid  to  trust  her  to  me;  for  I  know  the 
world  pretty  thoroughly  by  now,  and  still  find  her 
the  noblest  and  most  precious  thing  in  it.  Tell  him," 
— and  he  laughed  a  little  naughtily — *'  he  may  just 
as  well  give  in  first  as  last,  for  have  her  I  will,  if  I'm 
obliged  to  kidnap  her,  carry  her  off  without  with  your 
leave  or  by  your  leave.  Nothing  will  stop  me  short 
of  death;  so  he'd  best  accept  the  inevitable.  I  am 
perfectly  aware  I  belong  to  a  class  he'd  like  to  exter- 
minate— that  he  regards  me  as  an  absurd  anachron- 
ism, a  poisonous  blotch  on  the  body  politic.  But,  as 
I  was  explaining  to  her  to-day,  I  can't  help  being 
who  I  am.  This,  anyhow,  is  not  my  fault. — Ah !  and 
that's  so  delicious  about  her,  Brownlow ! — Just  what 
has  made  other  women  keen  to  catch  me,  actually 
stands  in  my  way  with  her.  She  doesn't  care  a  row 
of  pins,  I  verily  believe,  for  money,  or  rank,  or 
titles.  It  is  I,  myself,  she  loves,  not  what  I  can  give 
her.  Quaint,  you  know,  after  two  or  three  seasons 
of  London  mothers  with  daughters  on  hand  for  sale 
— It  strikes  one  as  quaint,  but,  good  Lord,  how 
mighty  refreshing!  " 

Again  he  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  window-sill, 
turning  his  head.    I  could  just  make  out  the  line  of 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  371 

his  profile,  the  Hps  parted  In  something  between  a 
sigh  and  laughter. 

"  She's  so  clever,  too — so  splendidly  awake.  Pic- 
ture the  endless  delight  of  showing  her  beautiful 
things,  new  and  beautiful  places !  And  she  is  so  well 
read — far  better  read  than  I.  That's  very  much, 
thanks  to  you,  Brownlow.  She  spoke  of  you  so 
sweetly,  and  of  the  comfort  and  help  your  friendship 
had  been  to  her.  I'm  very  grateful;  though,  upon 
my  word,  I  came  deucedly  near  being  jealous  once  or 
twice,  and  inclined  to  think  she  praised  you  a  wee  bit 
too  highly.  But,  joking  apart,  dear  old  man,  you 
will  see  Braithwaite  and  give  me  a  good  character?  " 

He  rose  as  he  spoke.  It  was  time.  I  could  not 
have  endured  much  longer.  For  I  had  been  racked 
if  ever  man  had — each  sentence  of  Hartover's  merry, 
— serious,  teasing,  eloquent,  tender — an  added  turn 
of  the  screw  under  which  muscles  parted  and  sinews 
snapped.  How  thankful  I  was  to  the  merciful  dark- 
ness which  hid  me !  My  voice  I  could,  to  some  ex- 
tent, command,  but  by  my  looks  I  must  have  been 
betrayed. 

Hartover  felt  the  way  across  to  the  table,  picked 
up  his  hat,  gloves,  and  crop.  Mechanically  I  rose 
too,  and  followed  him  out  on  to  the  landing. 

"  The  sooner  the  better,"  he  said  slyly.  *'  Think 
how  long  I've  waited!  I  ascertained  Braithwaite 
will  be  at  home  all  day.  Couldn't  you  go  to-mor- 
row?" 

"  If  I  can  get  a  conveyance,"  I  answered. 

"  There  are  my  horses." 


372  JHE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

But  twenty  miles'  ride  out,  and  twenty  back,  with 
such  an  interview  in  the  interval,  was,  I  felt,  beyond 
my  strength. 

"Oh!  well;  leave  it  to  me,  then.  I'll  arrange," 
the  boy  said,  "  if  you'll  let  me.  Good-night,  Brown- 
low,  and  God  bless  you!  You're  the  dearest  and 
best  friend  living." 

He  ran  down  the  dark  stairs,  and  swung  across 
the  little  court.  I  listened,  till  the  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps died  out  under  the  archway,  and  went  back, 
shutting  and  locking  both  doors  behind  me.  Then 
came  the  blackest  hour  of  my  life — worse  than  the 
racking — wherein  I  fought,  in  solitude,  with  the 
seven  devils  of  envy,  hatred,  and  malice,  the  devil 
of  loneliness  too;  with  the  natural  animal  man  in  me, 
and  with  visions — almost  concrete  in  their  vividness 
and  intensity — of  what  Nellie's  love  must  and  would 
surely  be  to  him  on  whom  she  bestowed  it. 

Of  the  following  day  I  retain  a  strange  memory, 
as  of  something  unreal  and  phantasmal.  I  believe  I 
looked  much  as  usual,  talked  as  usual,  behaved  in  a 
reasonable  and  normal  manner.  But  my  speech  and 
action  were  alike  mechanical.  My  brain  worked, 
my  material  and  physical  brain,  that  is;  but  for  the 
time  being  soul  and  heart  were  dead  in  me.  I  felt 
no  emotion,  felt  nothing,  indeed,  save  a  dumb  ache 
of  longing  the  day  were  over  and  I  free  to  rest. 

For  I  drove  out  to  Westrea,  of  course.  How 
could  I  do  otherwise?  True  to  his  word,  Hartover 
had  made  all  necessary  arrangements,  as  he  sent 
word  to  me  early.    At  the  same  time  he  sent  round 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  373 

a  note,  with  the  request  I  would  deliver  it  to  Nellie — 
of  which  more  hereafter.  I  found  Braithwaite  at 
home  and  greatly  perturbed  in  mind;  for,  like  the 
fearless  and  honourable  being  she  was,  Nellie  had 
already  told  him  both  the  fact  and  purpose  of  Hart- 
over's  visit. 

"  I  knov\7  what  brings  you  here,  Brownlow,"  he 
said,  as  he  met  me  in  the  porch.  "  And  I  could  wish 
you  a  worthier  errand.  I  confess  I  am  very  sore.  I 
flattered  myself  this  mad  project  had  received  its 
quietus  long  ago.  I  object  to  it  as  strongly  as  I  ever 
objected,  and  for  the  same  reasons.  Such  a  mar- 
riage is  equally  contrary  to  my  wishes  and  my  con- 
victions. Permitting  it,  I,  having  preached  to  others, 
should  indeed  become  myself  a  castaway.  What 
will  those,  who  share  my  views  as  to  the  iniquity  of 
the  aristocratic,  the  feudal  system — which  strangles 
the  independence  and  stunts  the  moral  and  material 
growth  of  three-fifths  of,  so-called,  free  Englishmen 
— think  of  me,  when  they  find  me  throwing  princi- 
ple to  the  winds  for  the  vulgar  satisfaction  of  seeing 
my  daughter  a  countess?  '* 

This,  and  much  more  to  the  same  effect,  weighted 
by  sufficient  substratum  of  truth  to  render  it  difficult 
to  combat.  Not  only  natural  and  genuine  fear  for 
Nellie's  future  happiness,  but  all  his  native  obstinacy 
was  aroused.  In  vain,  as  it  seemed,  I  pleaded  the 
change  in  Hartover,  the  seriousness  of  his  purpose, 
the  depths  of  his  affection,  his  growing  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility. In  vain,  too,  I  made  a  clean  breast  of 
certain  family  matters,  spoke  of  Fedore's  unscrupu- 


374  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

lous  pursuit,  her  ladyship's  compHcity,  and  of  the 
intrigues  which  had  surrounded  Hartover,  as  I 
feared,  from  childhood. 

"  Granted  all  you  say,"  he  answered.  "  Granted 
the  young  man's  reformation  is  sincere  and  promises 
to  be  lasting,  can  you  honestly  advise  me,  my  dear 
Brownlow,  to  let  my  daughter  become  part  and  par- 
cel of  a  society  thus  permeated  by  low  scheming  and, 
on  your  own  showing,  by  downright  immorality? 
You  are  actuated  by  a  fantastic  and  chivalrous  devo- 
tion to  this  handsome  young  princeling,  which  blinds 
you  to  facts.  Sensible  fellow  though  you  are,  he  has 
dazzled  and  bewitched  you,  just  as  he  dazzles  and 
bewitches  my  poor  Nellie.  But  having  an  honest  and 
deep-seated  objection  to  anything  in  the  shape  of 
princelings,  I  retain  my  clearness  of  eyesight,  and 
am  actuated  by  common  sense  and  prudence  regard- 
ing the  safety  of  my  daughter." 

"At  the  cost  of  breaking  her  heart?"  I  rather 
wearily  ventured. 

Whereupon  we  started  to  argue  the  whole  ques- 
tion over  again.  While  thus  engaged  we  had  saun- 
tered to  the  door  of  the  pleasant  low-ceilinged  living- 
room  opening  on  to  the  garden,  which,  brilliant  in 
colour,  rich  with  the  scent  of  sweet-briar  and  syrlnga, 
of  borders  thick-set  with  pinks,  sweet-williams  and 
roses,  basked  between  its  high  red  walls  in  the  still 
afternoon  sunshine.  On  the  threshold  Braithwalte 
turned  to  me,  saying  almost  bitterly: 

"  Ah !  Brownlow,  I  am  disappointed.  Why 
couldn't  you  speak  for  yourself,  man?    How  will- 


THE  TUTOR'S  STORY  375 

ingly  would  I  have  given  her  to  you,  had  you  asked 
me  !  Often  have  I  hoped,  since  you  stayed  under  my 
roof  at  Easter  year,  it  might  eventually  come  to 
that." 

Well  for  me  I  had  been  racked  and  devil-hunted 
last  night  till  emotion  was  dead  in  me ! 

"  Why  have  I  never  spoken  for  myself?  Because 
— well — look  at  Nellie.    There  is  your  answer." 

And  I  pointed  to  the  upward  sloping  pasture. 
Now  I  divined  the  contents  of  that  note  which  the 
boy  had  confided  to  me  for  delivery.  I  was  not  only 
his  ambassador,  but  his  despatch  rider.  My  mission 
hardly  unfolded,  he  followed  daringly  close  behind. 

For  down  across  the  turf  walked  Hartover  leading 
his  horse,  hat  in  hand.  Beside  him,  in  blue-sprigged 
muslin  gown  and  lilac  sun-bonnet,  walked  NelHe.  As 
we  stepped  out  of  the  doorway  she  caught  sight  of 
us,  and  the  sound  of  her  voice  came  in  soft  but  rapid 
speech.  The  young  man,  whose  head  inclined 
towards  her,  looked  up  and  gallantly  waved  his  hat. 
They  reached  the  bottom  of  the  slope,  and  as  they 
stood  side  by  side  on  the  bank,  the  great  brown  hun- 
ter, extending  its  neck,  sniffed  the  coolth  off  the 
water.  Only  the  brimming  stream  and  bright  gar- 
den lay  between  them  and  us. 

"  Mr.  Braithwaite,"  Hartover  called,  "  shall  I  be 
forced  to  run  away  with  her?  Time  and  place 
favour  it;  and,  Gad!  sir,  my  horse  has  plenty  left  in 
him  yet." 

He  slipped  his  arm  round  the  girl's  waist  and 
made  a  feint  of  tossing  her  on  to  the  saddle. 


376  THE  TUTOR'S  STORY 

"  Confound  the  fellow's  impudence !  "  Bralth- 
waite  growled,  as  he  moved  back  into  the  house. 

But  his  eyes  were  wet.  He  was  beaten.  Youth 
and  love  had  won  the  day,  and  he  knew  it. 

Thus  came  the  end,  or  rather  the  beginning.  For 
the  end — ^as  I  looked  across  the  valley  this  morning 
at  royal  Hover,  wrapped  in  that  glittering  mantle  of 
new-fallen  snow — is  not,  please  God,  for  a  long  time 
yet. 

Still,  in  point  of  fact,  Nellie  Braithwaite  never  be- 
came Lady  Hartover.  For  Braithwaite  exacted  an 
interval  of  six  months  before  the  wedding;  and  be- 
fore those  same  six  months  were  out  the  poor  creak- 
ing gate,  away  at  Bath,  had  creaked  itself  finally  out 
of  earthly  existence,  and  into — let  us  charitably  hope 
— a  more  profitable  heavenly  one;  while — such  after 
all  is  the  smooth  working  of  our  aristocratic  and 
hereditary  system,  with  its  le  roi  est  mort,  vive  le  roi 
— over  his  great  possessions  his  son,  my  always  very 
dear,  and  sometime  very  naughty,  pupil,  reigned  in 
his  stead. 

As  to  myself,  Cambridge  and  Hover,  Hover  and 
Cambridge,  till,  the  home  living  falling  vacant, 
I  removed  myself  and  my  books  here  to  this  pleas- 
ant parsonage,  where  learned  and  unlearned,  gentle 
and  simple,  young  and  old,  are  good  enough  to  come 
and  visit  me,  and  confide  to  me  their  hopes,  and  joys, 
disappointments,  sorrows,  and  sometimes — poor 
souls — their  sins. 

THE   END 


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